


A Kindness Is Never Wasted (Untangled Roots Part II)

by ICanStopAnytime



Series: Untangled Roots [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, F/M, Family Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2020-10-14 21:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ICanStopAnytime/pseuds/ICanStopAnytime
Summary: In this sequel to "Untangled Roots," Carol and Daryl lead a group of Kingdom refugees to Jamestown in hope of building a new life.





	1. The Kingdom Has Fallen

Married life takes some getting used to. Carol calls Daryl her "indoor/outdoor cat." She wants him home at dinner time, which is just some damn _made up_ time, as far as he's concerned. He's not supposed to go out hunting without telling her how long he'll be gone. She doesn't want antlers on the trailer wall. Apparently pants belong folded up in the file cabinet drawers and not slung over chairs, and muddy boots aren't supposed to be worn in bed. She wants him to shower more than once a week, even if he's already scrubbed his face and hands and he didn't even get bloody. He soon learns more showers means more sex, though, and he gets with the program.

He adjusts to married life, more or less, within Carol's wide tent of tolerance, but building them a cabin proves the greater challenge. That last week of May, after their wedding, he draws up plans with the Kingdom's architect and carpenter. The first week of June, he recruits Jerry and some others to help him dig the base. But then a migrating herd of walkers comes too close to the gates, and he has to work with Carol and Dianne and Jerry to redirect it. It takes a week. Because the herd temporarily cut offs the hunters from their prey and drives away a lot of frightened game, the next week he has to hunt longer hours to replenish the dwindling reserves.

By then it's time to take the trade team to Alexandria and the Hilltop and back. When he returns the first week of July, he finds Carol has moved back into the school, because the classroom trailer they were sharing is far too hot. She's chosen a small classroom for them, as their temporary bedroom, and not the chambers she once inhabited with Ezekiel. The mattress is on the floor. An electric window fan whirs in a slightly opened classroom window. Two filing cabinets serve as dressers.

"Gonna finish that cabin," he tells her.

"I know you will."

In the sweltering heat of the Virginia summer, with Jerry's help, Daryl secures and sizes and cuts the logs and piles them near the building site. He starts with the hearth and chimney, which he constructs of brick, with the help of the Kingdom's mason. But then one of the archers, whose gone out bird hunting by himself, doesn't come back, and Daryl's sent to track him. It takes three days to find the man, his leg bone snapped from what appears to be a tumble down a ravine, and his flesh gnawed off by walkers. Then there's the grave digging, and the funeral, and the hunting, and by then, it's time for the trade team to make its rounds again.

When he returns the third week of August, the mattress has been set in a frame, and Carol's brought in a wardrobe for their clothes. She's pushed four student desks together to make a little kitchen table in a corner of the classroom, and she's brought in a microwave and hotpot.

"Gonna finish that cabin," he tells her.

"I know you will."

Daryl has to let the logs dry a few weeks. He gets the first layer done around the base, the beginnings of the walls, but by then, it's time for the trade team to make its rounds.

When he returns the second week of October, she's put curtains on the classroom windows, brought in a love seat, and thrown down an area rug. Dog is curled up and asleep atop it. The little kitchen table has been covered with a tablecloth.

"Gonna finish that cabin," he tells her.

"I know you will."

But he has to hunt first, every day, and sometimes overnight, to help fill the smokehouse before winter, because the coming cold will drive the deer into hiding. He only gets one more layer of logs done before it's time for the trade team to set out again for its last trip before the winter hiatus.

When he returns the first day of December, Carol's put up an artificial Christmas tree in the corner of the classroom and decorated it with silver tinsel and red bulbs. There's an unplugged space heater in the corner, ready for use when the weather grows too cold.

"Gonna finish that cabin," he tells her.

"I know you will."

He gets another layer of logs done. The walls are growing. But after three months of no rain, the field of grass in which the base of the cabin rests is over dry – and that's where the fire starts. It starts because some dumbass kid is playing with fireworks. The Kingdom fights the fire back with a bucket brigade and shovels of dirt, and they succeed in putting it out, but by then, the flames have consumed the partial walls of the cabin, and only the chimney and charred, blackened floor remains.

It takes every fiber in Daryl's being not to turn into his father and beat the ever-living shit out of that kid. He leaves to hunt and to cool down, and he doesn't come back for three days, by which time Carol has organized a search party for him, which is about to head out the gates.

They have their first real married fight, when they're away from the prying eyes of the community, in the classroom that's become their apartment. Carol tells him, "You can't just run off like that anymore, Daryl. I was worried."

"Ya damn well knew I was huntin'!" he explodes.

"Not for three days, I didn't!" she yells back.

"Surprised ya didn't paint the goddamn walls while I was gone!"

"What?" Carol asks in confusion.

He takes an angry step forward and growls, "'Cause ya sure as shit don't trust me to finish that cabin!"

"Ah," she says softly. "_That's_ what this is about." He hates that she doesn't yell back at him, that she won't return fire for fire, because now he feels like an asshole, with her standing there ever so calmly, just like she did on the Greene family farm, when he got up in her face. Except this time she doesn't flinch. "Maybe we should have a conversation about that."

"Ain't interested in no _conversations_," he grumbles, his voice much lowered, taking a step back. "Got work to do." He strides to the door.

"Daryl," she says gently, and he sighs. He thuds his forehead against the closed door. She walks over to him, puts her palm open on the small of his back, and kisses his shoulder. "Building this cabin, what's it _really_ about?"

"'S 'bout bein' a man," he admits, his head still pressed to the door. "Providin'. Makin' a home for m'wife. Instead of just movin' into hers, like a freeloadin' sack of shit." He raises his head and steps back from the door. "Like m'father." he turns toward her but doesn't look at her. "Asshole sat on his ass for years, collectin' disability for an injury he ain't never even really had, drinkin' up half the paycheck my mama earned workin' at the diner."

Carol puts a hand on his hip. "Look at me, Daryl."

Reluctantly, he does.

"Who filled half the Kingdom's smokehouse for the winter by himself?"

"That ain't – "

"- Who filled it?"

"I did."

"And who kept the trade team safe from attacks and made sure it came back with supplies we all needed to live? That his wife needed to live?"

"Me," he mutters.

"And who risked his life to help draw that herd away from the gates of the Kingdom?"

"You."

"And you."

Daryl chews on his thumbnail.

"Daryl, I trust you to build this cabin. And you _will_, if that's what you want to do. If that's what you need to do. But I don't need that cabin anywhere near as much as I need you to be a full partner with me in making sure _our_ Kingdom is safe, and secure, and well fed. You're the hardest working man I've ever known."

Daryl's thumb drops from his mouth. "M' sorry I yelled at you."

"Apology accepted."

"'N m'sorry I stayed out so long without tellin' ya when I'd be back."

"Please don't do it again. I really _was_ worried." She presses her forehead to his and kisses him tenderly.

**[*]**

Daryl starts from scratch on the cabin. The ten-year-old kid who accidentally burned it down shows up every morning, begging to help him, but Daryl shrugs him off. The fifth day, though, Daryl reluctantly puts him to work. The kid works hard, does what he's told, doesn't talk back – doesn't talk at all. And in a week, Daryl forgives him.

But with the New Year comes a foot of snow. It melts eventually, but just when it does, the temperature drops again, and the ground freezes over. The wood is too brittle to work with. And in the main school building, where the bulk of the Kingdom's subjects live, the pipes freeze over, and the water stops flowing. They have to rely on their emergency stores, which, fortunately are plentiful – Carol had the foresight to order gallons and gallons of great blue storage containers to be filled in the fall.

But the frozen pipes must have developed nearly invisible hairline cracks, and when the thaw comes the first week of March, and they turn the water back on, it runs fine for two days. Then one night, several of the pipes explode at once, spewing water everywhere. By the time they get the water turned off, half the school is flooded. The electricity is shorted out, and the mold spreads. Everyone is moved out of the school and into the classroom trailers, to tents in the courtyard, and to the stand-alone gymnasium. The weather is cold, but it's no longer freezing, and most of the winter snow is gone, except for a lingering patch here and there. Bonfires warm the courtyard.

"The water stores will only last five more days," Carol tells Daryl one evening in the classroom trailer they moved back into from the school. She leans back against the teacher's desk, arms crossed protectively over her chest. "Edward says the pipes can't possibly be repaired in their condition, not with the materials we have, and Jimmy says there's no saving the electrical wiring. We can't dig a well, not in this environment, and we can't get the school to fully dry out. Dr. Emily says the mold is dangerous to our health. The school's not fit to house anyone." She sighs. "The Kingdom has fallen, and it's my fault."

Daryl leans back next to her, doesn't know if she wants to be touched, and so he doesn't. But he does know it's his turn to reassure her. "Ain't yer fault. Bound to happen someday."

She sighs. "I haven't served them as well as Ezekiel did."

"Like hell ya haven't. This would of happened if he were still king. Might of happened even sooner. Ya gave these people almost two years after he died." In two more months, it would have been time for the spring fair. It _will_ be time for their first-year anniversary. "Almost two years of peace. No hunger. No bloodshed." He'd say not one man lost, but there was that foolish archer who fell down the ravine. "Ya ain't failed anyone, Carol."

"I'm sending three swift riders," she tells him, "to Alexandria, the Hilltop, and Oceanside, to see how many they're willing to take in. We'll offer two horses, four chickens, and one pig to each camp for taking them in, but it won't be nearly enough to compensate for so many people."

"'S like Aaron said, when he took us to Alexandria. _People_ are the resource."

"But they also strain resources," Carol reminds him. "Those three camps can't possibly take in all of us."

In two days, the riders return with letters. The other communities are generous; they agree to open wide their gates, but it isn't enough. There are still thirty people who can't be housed. Carol discusses the matter privately with Daryl, as they sit shoulder to shoulder on the great stone steps of the abandoned school.

"Parents with children under fourteen, women who are pregnant, and the elderly get priority," Carol tells him. "We send them all to the alliance camps."

"That leaves how many?" Daryl asks.

"Forty-five. We'll select twenty-eight of those to go with us."

"Thought ya'd want to go live at Oceanside with Henry."

"Henry's engaged. He's settled. He doesn't need me anymore, but these people still do. They need you, too."

"A'ight. 'M onboard." Carol's right. The remnants of the Kingdom, the ones who can't be taken in by the Alliance - they have no one to lead them.

"We pack up today," Carol says, "and set out at daybreak in a pilgrim train. We split at the fork in the road. Jerry will lead one group to the Hilltop. Dianne will lead another to Oceanside. William will lead a third to Alexandria. And you and I, we'll lead the fourth group."

"Where to?" Daryl asks.

"You freed a lion once, by chewing through his net. And a kindness is never wasted."

"Ya wanna lead 'em to Jamestown, 'n throw ourselves on their mercy?"

"Garland said the gates of Jamestown were always open to us."

"Us," Daryl murmurs. "Not us 'n twenty-eight other people."

"We bring talents."

Daryl toys with a twig he scooped up from the courtyard.

"Jamestown has 600 people," Carol says. "An entire massive river. Fishing and farming and lots and lots of land. It takes in people, always has. And it could absorb thirty more."

"If it's still standin'." He taps the twig against his chin. "If Garland or someone decent is still in charge. _If_ they take us in."

Carol takes the twig from his hand and begins to toy with it herself. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Nah. No. I don't," he admits. "Gonna send riders 'n ask?"

"It's too far for riders. We'd be out of stores before they got back and have no food or water for the journey." She bends the twig. "I say we take our stores and we go. And if they say no…well, we figure it out from there." The twig snaps in Carol's hands, like the pipes snapped, like the Kingdom did.


	2. Arrival at Jamestown

There are hugs and tears at the fork in the road, where the Kingdom fractures. "Thank you for the time you've given us," Jerry tells Carol. "You'll always be Queen Carol to me."

"You're doing right by these people," Dianne assures her. "And you'll be back, for the annual fair."

"There is no annual fair anymore," Carol says sadly.

"There will be," Dianne insists. "I'll convince Oceanside to hold one. There's no time to prepare for a spring fair, but we'll make it a fall fair this time. November 15th. A final chance to trade before the winter. Come to Oceanside then, my queen. See your son. See your friends. And tell us how you've prospered."

Carol smiles. She holds out her hand, and the woman shakes it soundly.

Daryl rolls his motorcycle up onto the horse-drawn cart of supplies Jerry's taking with him to the Hilltop and secures it next to a cage of chickens. It's nearly out of fuel. There's no room for it on the one wagon they're taking with them to Jamestown. "Give m'bike to Aaron," he tells Jerry. "As a thank you for takin' y'all in." Aaron was the one who gave him the base of the bike to start with, a lifetime ago, in Alexandria. It's not just a thank you for taking the Kingdom's refuges into the Hilltop. It's a thank you for giving Daryl a purpose at a time when he felt very much on the outside. Daryl rubs the seat of the bike, like he's saying goodbye to an old friend.

Dog barks, and at Daryl's command of "Up, boy!" jumps into the wagon bound for Jamestown. It will be pulled by Carol's stallion, Lancelot, and by one of the Kingdom's mares, Guinevere. There are supplies for the journey onboard – tents, some food, and several gallons of water. Eight people also sit on the benches along the sides. The rest of the group will walk on foot, taking turns on the wagon. Half volunteered for the long trek to Jamestown. Half were chosen by lot and resigned themselves to their uncertain fate.

Daryl falls in step beside Carol, at the front of the pilgrim train. On the dirt road before them, an early spring wildflower, far ahead of its peers, stubbornly claws its way up from the muddy clay. The flower bends under the weight of its own bright yellow petals and droops toward the ground, but it doesn't fall. Daryl crouches, plucks it up, and stands to hold it out to Carol. She smiles tenderly, takes the flower, and tucks it behind her ear.

[*]

The journey takes twice as long with so many people as it took for Daryl and Carol to return from Jamestown. They scavenge along the way to bolster their supplies, but, finding nothing, they soon run out of food.

"We should have stayed in the Kingdom," a woman grumbles. "Even rundown, it would have been better than all this wandering."

"We're not wandering," Sarah, a former knight of the Kingdom, tells her. "We're headed somewhere."

"Somewhere none of us has ever seen," another man says. "Somewhere that might not even exist anymore!"

Carol ignores the grumbling. She sends Daryl and Sarah, who's a good archer, to hunt, and she appoints two more knights to run creek water through filters into the now empty storage jugs. That evening, they have to pack up their temporary camp in the middle of the night and flee from walkers.

"I never should have volunteered," a man complains. "I should have taken my chance with the lottery. Maybe I'd be at the Hilltop now."

"Or on the sunny shores of Oceanside," a woman grumbles.

As they near Jamestown, Daryl stills in the spot where the first flag relay tower stands, three or so miles outside of the gates of Jamestown. It's vacant and overgrown. Ivy creeps up the supports and weaves its way in and out of the wooden slats, and the trees that mask it drop their branches all the way to the platform. It hasn't been used in months. A growl of concern reverberates in his throat.

The next watch stand, a mile up the road, is empty, also. Empty, but not overgrown.

Carol's heart grows heavy as they march onward, and the murmurs of grumbling behind her grow louder. The third watchstand, however, less than a mile from Jamestown, is manned, which Carol sees through her binoculars a half mile away. She lets out a sigh of relief.

"Someone there?" Daryl asks.

"Yes."

"He spot us?"

"We're hard _not_ to spot. He put up his rifle and is signaling back to Jamestown with the flag." Carol lowers the binoculars around her neck, raises a hand, and orders her people, "All weapons holstered, sheathed, and shouldered." There's a chorus of clicking and snapping. "Raise the flag, Sarah."

Sarah slides a flag pole from the back of the wagon and unfurls it to reveal a blue peace symbol on a white background. She raises it above her head and begins to wave it just enough to keep it unfurled and visible as the pilgrim train marches on.

[*]

When they're within a fourth of a mile, Daryl insists on the binoculars. He slows to a crawl of a walk as he looks at the watch stand. "That who I think it is?"

He hands the binoculars back to her, and she takes a look. "Who do you think it is?"

"Daniel."

"Who's Daniel?"

"M' cellmate the first two nights in Jamestown. The one they banished 'cause he helped them fugitives escape."

"The one who tried to steal Freckles?" Carol asks. "The one you gave an MRE to, instead of just shooting him?"

"Mhm."

"Why would they take him back?"

Daryl grips the strap of the crossbow that rides his back. Maybe they didn't. Maybe Daniel found a group and told them about Jamestown. Maybe that group took it over. The idea leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of his gut. What if he left a man alive, and because he did, Jamestown has fallen, and Garland and Shannon are dead?

"Stay back," Carol orders her people. "Wait here. Daryl and I will approach."

Cautiously, weapons holstered, sheathed, and shouldered but still within immediate reach, Carol and Daryl near the stand. Daniel scurries down from the watchtower, swings his rifle onto his shoulder, and marches forward to meet them.

"Hoooooolllllly shit!" Daniel says when they're within shouting distance. "Hooollllly shit!"

Carol and Daryl stop walking and let Daniel close the distance between them.

"I _thought_ it was you," says Daniel, grinning at Daryl. "My old roomie! Almost didn't recognize you with the real short hair and no goatee."

Two days before the pipes burst, Daryl lost a bet with Jerry. He got in an argument with the man over a lyric in some Led Zeppelin song and swore he'd shave his goatee off if Jerry was right. But when they got the record out, it turned out Jerry was one hell of a music buff, and Daryl's memory was a little faulty on that _one_ particular lyric. When the goatee came off, the hair didn't look right at all. So he had the Kingdom's barber cut that back, too, and now it's almost as short as it was when he was in the Atlanta quarry camp. He's been trying to grow the goatee back, but for some reason the hair on his face is stubborn about growing, and all he has at the moment is a fine fuzz.

"Did you dye your hair, too?" Daniel asks.

"No, I didn't fuckin' dye my hair!" What kind of vainglorious asshole does Daniel think he is? "Just looks a lot lighter when 's short." And when it's lighter, the gray isn't as obvious.

Daniel nods over his shoulder. "What's with the wagon train?"

"Jamestown take you back?" Daryl asks.

"Yes, they did. And as you can see, I have a prestigious position," he says sarcastically. "Standing around all day looking at nothing."

"Why they take ya back?"

"'Cause I finally found myself a camp, one full of ruthless men." Daryl's hand tightens on his bowstrap. "They knew about Jamestown, had been spying it out." Carol's hand falls to the hilt of her knife. "Didn't know I was from there. I found out they were planning an attack, and they had thirty men and lots of automatic firepower. So I snuck out one night and came to Jamestown. Told them the plan – the hour and the minute and the direction they'd be coming from." Carol and Daryl's hands relax. "And then I fought alongside them when they came. We took every single one of those motherfuckers out when they showed up."

"Good thing you didn't shoot him after all," Carol says.

The guilty tension in Daryl's gut unravels. His nerves tighten, however, when Daniel says, "Only lost three Jamestown men in the fight."

"Garland still sheriff?" Daryl asks.

"No. No. He's not sheriff any more." He nods over Daryl's shoulder to the people. "I take it you're looking for refuge?"

"Yeah," Daryl answers. "Is Garland still alive?" he asks anxiously. "Or did he die in that battle?"

"Garland's still kicking around," Daniel answers. "I'll signal ahead that you're coming and that you're peaceful. What they decide to do with you is another matter." Daniel waves his arm in a circle like he's rolling out a welcome mat. "Thou shalt pass." Then he shakes his head, laughs, and runs to the watchtower. Rifle shouldered, he climbs up it and grabs the flag and starts sending Morse code to the watchman at the gates of Jamestown.

[*]

They're divested of their weapons and all their goods by armed guards at the gate. "Are they taking _everything_?" Emily, the Kingdom's former doctor, asks.

"It will be worth the price," Carol promises her. "If they admit us."

"And if they don't?" another man wants to know.

"Then we'll at least get our weapons and horses back," she says, "unless the law has changed."

"You didn't tell us we'd be robbed if we came here!" another man grumbles.

"Don't worry," Sarah tells Carol. "They grumbled against Moses in the wilderness, too, but eventually he did lead them to the Promised Land."

"I appreciate the confidence," Carol tells her, and she does, because she's not so confident herself. She doesn't recognize any of the guards who are stripping them of their things, and if Garland isn't sheriff anymore, she's not sure they have an in.

"Where ya takin' my dog?" Daryl asks one of the guards.

"To the stables. It'll be fed."

"Your group will wait for now in the museum theater," another one of the guards tells Carol. He points from Carol to Daryl. "Are you two the leaders?"

"Yes," Carol replies.

"Then come with me. The Mayor will see you first."

They're lead to the captain's old office and told to sit down in the two chairs across from the desk. "Mayor Barron will be with you shortly." The guard retreats to just outside the doorway, where he stands straight with his back against the wall.

"Do you recognize that name?" Carol asks him.

"Nah." 

At first, Daryl doesn't recognize the man who enters the room five minutes later and shuts the door behind himself. His wispy, Doc Holiday style goatee has been replaced by a full on, dark brown beard, and his thick, wavy, shoulder length hair has been cut to halfway up his neck. He's not wearing his familiar white Stetson. The blue-gray eyes are the same, though, and Carol says, "Garland?"

"Carol? _Daryl_?" Garland drops the folder he's carrying on the desk as Carol scurries to her feet to hug him. Daryl rises and holds out his hand. As Garland shakes, he says, "Daniel just signaled there was a group coming in for refuge. I didn't know it was _yours_."

"Didn't recognize ya at first," Daryl tells him.

"Or I you," Garland tells him. "You look ten years younger!"

"Growin' it back," Daryl insists, running his hand over the soft stubble on his cheeks where his goatee once was.

Garland pops his head out the door to dismiss the guard. "Go tell Shannon that Carol and Daryl are here. I know she's somewhere in the museum."

"_That's_ Daryl Dixon?" the guard asks in a voice of awe and peers in the room. He's about twenty-five and blonde, and his blue eyes are starstruck. "Oh, sir, can I shake your hand?" He steps in with his hand out toward Daryl.

Carol stifles a snort while Daryl skeptically shakes the guard's hand.

"And yours, ma'am?" the guard asks. "Carol Stuart?"

"Carol Dixon." Carol extends her hand to shake the guard's, but he raises it to his lips and kisses it, smiling as he lowers it. "It's a true honor."

Garland waves him out impatiently, and the guard scurries on.

"Hell was that?" Daryl asks as Garland closes the door.

"Let's just say you two are legendary around here, given how you brought down the mutineers." Garland plops down into the desk chair and gestures for them to sit down across from him. "Nick is relatively new. He and his sister stumbled on Jamestown in July, but he's heard the stories. And seen the exhibit."

"The _exhibit_?" Carol asks as she sits down in the chair across from him.

"Shannon had the…perfectly Shannonesque idea to redo a section of the museum to contain exhibits about the history of Jamestown as the first permanent post-apocalyptic settlement. She figures it will serve as a history lesson to future generations. There's an exhibit on the Heroes of the Mutiny of 7 NE."

Daryl sits in the chair next to Carol's "NE?"

"New Era. It's how the council has chosen to date things. BNE – Before the New Era and NE – New Era. The NE dating starts with the first January to follow the Great Sickness."

"Guard said yer name was _Mayor Barron?_" Daryl asks.

"Barron's my surname," Garland answers. "We held elections in July, after the transition, and I was elected Mayor of Jamestown."

"But ya ain't sheriff?" Daryl asks.

"We drew up a new charter in August. A person can't be _both_ sheriff _and_ mayor. They people want to make sure the mayor stays accountable to the law. So I stepped down from that position and Earl – you remember my old bailiff?" Daryl nods. "He's sheriff now."

"Who's on your Council?" Carol asks. 

"There's Ana – you met her. She was the judge who presided at the treason trial. I think Daryl met our veterinarian, Carolyn?"

Daryl nods.

"She's on the council. And uh…well…." He smiles. "Let's just say my lovely wife knows how to _politic_. Shannon greased palms and kissed babies, promised a chicken in every pot, and got herself elected to the council after the transition."

"I'm not surprised," Carol replies with a smile.

"Dr. Ahmad is a member," Garland answers. "Then Barry, he's a hunter, I think Daryl worked with him while he was here. There's a former junior lieutenant, who's now the captain of the Jamestown Navy, but Captain Cummins has no special power above that of anyone else on the council. There's a fisherman, Marcus, and our farm manager, Ernesto. And then there's me. As mayor, I'm the ninth member and chairman of the council." Garland leans back in his chair and asks, "So I understand you've come with a group of twenty-eight men and women, seeking refuge?"

"Mhmhm," Daryl murmurs.

"What happened to the Kingdom?"

Carol solemnly tells him about the community's collapse. "That school was never an ideal location for a camp," Carol says. "Ezekiel made it work, though, and so I built on what he started, for as long as I could."

"And I'm sure your people are grateful to you for that." Garland tents his fingers. "So here's how this works now. We're going to interview all your people – find out their skills and talents. Earl and his deputies are doing that even as we speak. We're going to search and inventory all their belongings. After the interviews, the council will meet, discuss the matter, and then vote on whether or not to grant you probationary admission."

"No trial?" Carol asks.

"We don't have trials for that purpose anymore. Ana convinced us it was too inefficient. Now if the council say yes, we're going to ask for an entry payment of some sort, some portion of what you brought with you, and the rest we'll return. If the price is agreeable to you, we'll take you in on a probationary basis. You'll get your weapons back right away, you'll have them while on probation. As long as you don't break any laws during the next month, and you haul your weight, you'll become full citizens of Jamestown in just four weeks, which means you'll have the right to vote for council, to sue in court, and all the other protections and benefits of citizenship. But you get the responsibilities right away. Once you're accepted for probationary admission, you'll be assigned jobs – twenty hours of work a week to contribute to the community. In exchange, you get basic, sustenance rations. That leaves you time to work for each other's rations if someone can't work."

"Everyone can work," Daryl says.

"Then you can spend that extra time growing food in your own private gardens, or hunting and fishing and scavenging. As for housing - "

"- We just need someplace to pitch our tents," Carol says.

"Well, you can't be in tents out here in the winter or during thunderstorm season. We have some extra beds available. We've lost a few people, but we've also been preparing for the possibility of growth, whether through birth or through taking in refuges."

"Wanna build a cabin," Daryl says, "for me 'n m'wife. A piece of land somewhere inside the gates is all I ask."

"You'll be given land to build on, if that's what you want," Garland says, as though he already assumes the council will vote to take them in. "Our _tools_ are freely available to you at no cost, but nails, screws, things in short supply – you need to pay for those. You can do that with extra labor for the community or through bartering goods. You can also scavenge your own supplies off the clock, and you're free to cut down trees in the designated lumber areas. While you're building, you can - "

The door bursts open, and there's a squee of excitement, followed by, "Carol! Oh my God I can't believe y'all are here!"

Shannon looks no different. Her long, curly red hair is the same length, and her eyes are just as green, but she's put on some weight. A _lot_ of weight. It's not until Carol has stood up to hug her that she realizes the woman is pregnant. Carol steps back after the hug and asks – "You and Garland are having a baby?"

"I'm about to drop in eight weeks or so," Shannon answers. "We weren't planning on having one, but Garland's not always successful at pulling out."

Garland rubs his eyes. "Darling, please. They don't need the details."

By now Daryl has stood up and also gives her a sideways hug before he peers down at her pregnant belly. "Congrats, man," he tells Garland.

"Did you tell them they're welcome to live with us?" Shannon asks.

"I hadn't gotten around to it. But, yes, you two are welcome to live with us until you get your cabin built." He adds, hastily, almost as an afterthought, "Assuming the council approves your admission."

Daryl licks his lips and says, "Can't wait to get me a piece of Grandma Bonnie's strawberry pie!"

"Oh," Shannon says, almost "I'm sorry, sugar, but my mother passed away this past fall."

Daryl mutters a condolence.

"We had a really bad bout of influenza in September," Shannon explains. "Garland ordered a quarantine, which probably limited the deaths, and Dr. Ahmad and the others fought it valiantly, but we still lost a few people, especially among the young and the old."

"Is Gary all right?" Carol asks with alarm.

"Gary's fine," Garland answers. "Unfortunately, we lost two of the orphans, including our little Terrance." Garland grits his teeth. He pushes back his chair and stands. "Well, let's go talk to your people."

When they get to the theater, a group of three guards is peering inside and whispering to each other. "Twelve," one says.

"No, eight," replies the second.

"I saw twelve," the first insists.

"But four look like they're already taken," says the third. "And that girl can't even be seventeen yet. So only seven."

"Boys," Shannon calls, and they suddenly snap to attention. "You can worry about picking flowers and wooing the new ladies later. Right now I need one of you to gather the town council and send them to the council chambers."

"Yes, Councilwoman," a guard replies.

"One of you go back to the front gate," Garland tells them.

The guards disburse and Carol and Daryl go into the theater where Earl and his deputies are interviewing the Kingdom's people and taking notes. Earl looks up from his spiral notebook, tucks his pencil in his front pocket, and comes over to greet them both. The salt-and-pepper haired deputy has grown a handlebar mustache.

"We got them all some apple juice and cornbread," Earl says. "They said they hadn't eaten since last night, and it's already mid-afternoon."

"Thank you," Carol tells him.

A woman from the Kingdom raises her cup of apple juice and says, "Sorry we doubted you, Queen Carol!"

Earl grins. "_Queen_?"

Carol shrugs.

"You should explain to your people what's going on," Garland tells her. "Shannon and I need to go to the council chambers. I'll be back once a decision is made."

Carol goes to the stage before the screen to explain what's happening. Earl and his deputies resume their interviews and note taking. That takes about an hour, at which point Earl tells Daryl and Carol, "I need to go report to the council. Sit tight here." He leaves two of his deputies at the door. One, a dark-haired, thirty-something Hispanic man, ventures inside. 

"Hello," he tells the knight Sarah. "I'm Santiago." He extends his hand. "I work for the Sheriff's Department." 

Sarah points to his deputy star. "Yeah, I can see that." She shakes his hand but then melds back into the group, and he takes the hint and returns to the doorway.

Only fifty minutes passes, but it seems like an eternity waiting. Garland returns and draws Daryl and Carol aside. "The council has voted to offer your group probationary admission. The admission fee will be your wagon, your stallion, and your mare - to be taken for community use."

"And?" asks Carol. She was expecting them to demand more for the safety of fences, the plenty of the docks and fields, and the beds they're offering.

"That's it. All of your other things will be immediately returned to you."

Carol takes the stage before the movie screen and tells the remnants of the Kingdom the terms of admission. "All in favor of accepting Jamestown's offer?"

Every hand goes up.


	3. Settling In

With their packs on their shoulders and their restored weapons at their sides, the people of the fallen Kingdom follow Garland from the theater. Heads turn in every direction with a mixture of curiosity, awe, and trepidation. Mayor Barron leads them down the hallway marked _offices_. He points a manila folder through an open doorway. "This is the breakroom. You're welcome to use it any time if you need a microwave or hot pot, but don't touch the food in the cabinets or fridge. That's all for the orphans." He leads them on.

"Your whole camp has power?" Jimmy, the Kingdom's former electrician asks.

"Only in this museum," Garland answers. "But half our solar backup batteries no longer work, so we do ration and we do still have browns out."

"I can take a look at those backup batteries," Jimmy suggests. "I know a few tricks for getting a little extra life out of them."

"Then I think I know what your job is going to be." Garland leads the group on and pauses in the hallway and points at the infirmary. "This is our clinic. That's our field medic in there right now. Deputy Thomas. He's the one who patched Carol up when she was stabbed in the woods." Deputy Thomas waves to them through the open blinds of the window. Garland flicks open his folder, runs his finger down a page, and asks, "Emily Norton?"

Carol calls the Kingdom's doctor forward.

"You'll be working here, on a rotating schedule with Dr. Ahmad and our other medical personnel." Garland looks back at the notes Earl gave him. "You're married?"

"She is!" calls Emily's husband, stepping forward.

"Then you two can have this office as a bedroom, since Emily will be on call some nights." Garland points to an office cattycorner to the infirmary. "It used to belong to our nurse. She died fighting that flu. It already has a double-size bed in it. Why don't you two drop your things, and we'll get you some fresh sheets from storage later?"

The married couple goes inside, drops their packs and rejoins the tour group. They pass another office, with the doors closed and the blinds drawn. "This is where Dr. Ahmad and his wife live." Garland throws open a different door to reveal a long, wide, former office. "This used to be the captain's bedroom chambers, but we turned it into a quarantine room during the flu outbreak. It's currently decontaminated and unoccupied."

There are two sets of bunk beds in the room, with three beds each, a dresser, a wardrobe, a changing stall, and a hutch-style pantry as well as a small table with two chairs. He opens the file folder again and runs his finger down it and calls out six names. The first is the widow of the archer who died in that ravine, and the second is her fifteen-year-old daughter. The next four are all single women. Earl must have asked everyone about their relationship status. "You can stay here," Garland tells them. "Feel free to drop your things."

Each woman claims a bunk.

Next, Garland rounds a corner and shows them the old employee locker rooms. He taps a clipboard. "You can sign up on the schedule for one hot shower a week. Keep it under ten minutes. Otherwise you bathe in the washing troughs or river. This building is fed by gravity wells, but they can run dry quickly if overused. We have other old-school wells and hand pumps throughout the community. There are three toilets in each of these locker rooms that are on a septic system. Don't use any other toilets in the museum. We've had sewage issues with those. There are also outhouses throughout the community." He flicks open the file folder again. "Edward Wilson? Plumber?"

Edward emerges from the group with a raised hand. "That's me."

"You'll help us keep these bathrooms up and running. Report here to meet our water engineer at ten tomorrow."

Edward nods.

Next Garland shows them the library, at which point they've reached a dead end and have to backtrack. They head through the open part of the museum that houses the orphanage. The kids are not currently there. Garland opens his folder again. "Anika Dogra and Kelly Hopkins?"

Two women in their early twenties step forward. Both were childcare providers in the Kingdom. "You can stay here," Garland tells them, tapping an empty bunk with two beds. "People have been volunteering to rotate night duty since our nanny died from that flu. You'll just need to put the kids to bed, be available if they wake at night, and walk them to school in the morning. You'll have your days off and you can switch out nights with each other, in case one of you should have somewhere else to be one night."

"I'll give them somewhere else to be!" a twenty-something man walking through the museum calls. Dimples pock both his cheeks, and he wears a sailor's cap. 

"Aren't you supposed to be on the docks, Harry?" Garland asks him.

"Headed there right now, Mayor." Harry salutes Garland. 

"I apologize for that," Garland tells the young women. "We have a bit of a gender imbalance here. So if there's ever a man making you uncomfortable, you just report it to the Sheriff Earl Carter."

"How about I report it to my knife?" Anika replies with a hand on the hilt.

Garland glances at her warily. "Vigilantism is frowned upon in Jamestown. And that seems an excessive response."

"She was joking," Kelly tells him. "And besides, Harry _is _kind of cute." She tosses a pack on a bed.

Garland continues the tour through parts of the museum Carol and Daryl didn't explore the first time here. He shows them the laundry room, where there's two industrial washers, a dryer, three ironing boards with electric irons, and several clothes racks where clothes hang drying. He assigns two women to report to work there in the morning, women, Carol notices, who did a lot of cooking, cleaning, and laundry in the Kingdom. Earl's notes must be thorough.

"We use these machines to wash and sometimes dry the clothes of the orphans and all the bedding in Jamestown," Garland explains. "You can turn in your bedding once a month to have it laundered for you. We'll get y'all on the schedule. But you'll wash your own clothes in the river with washboards and dry them on lines. We don't have the electricity and water to let _everyone_ use these machines. But you can come in and use the irons anytime the laundry workers aren't using them."

Garland moves on and opens a locked door in the hallway and steps inside. "This is cold storage." There are three refrigerators and five deep freezers inside, as well as numerous plastic igloo coolers and shelves. One of the freezers is unplugged with the door lifted up. The mayor flicks open his folder. "Ken Baker?"

"That's me," says Ken, stepping forward.

"You used to work for Sears Appliance?"

Ken nods.

"Report here at 1 PM tomorrow to talk with our other appliance guy and on that freezer."

"Yes, sir."

Next, Garland leads them through an open door into a large room. "This is our arsenal. We don't have many weapons in here, because everyone holds onto their own. But we have ammunition, arrows, spare parts, tools, gun powder, bullets, and related supplies." The old exhibit photographs on the wall have been covered up by floor-to-ceiling metal shelving bursting with the items Garland just described. "Y'all get fifteen rounds of ammo a week, which you can use for practice, trade for other goods, or store up for a rainy day. Hunters, guards, and deputies get twenty rounds."

Daryl can trade his ammo for nails and other supplies to build the cabin, Carol thinks, since he'll be using his crossbow to hunt. 

A long wooden bench with two Dillon Precision reloading presses lines one of the walls, and two men sit pouring in gun powder and cranking down handles. Plastic buckets full of spent brass for reloading line the floor beneath the bench.

Daryl points to a black metal object on the far end of the bench. "'S that what I think it is?"

"What do you think it is?" Garland asks.

"A high-end crossbow press."

"Well, then it probably is. You're welcome to come in here and use it anytime you like."

"Who uses it?" Daryl wants to know.

"We had a crossbow hunter. We lost him in that battle Daniel warned us was coming. You're welcome to his bolts and spare strings and bow. You'll be hunting for your twenty hours, and we don't have any other crossbow men." Garland strolls over to one of the shelves, plucks up the crossbow, and brings it to Daryl.

Daryl grins like a kid at Christmas when he takes it and looks it over.

"Drake!" Garland calls to one of the men reloading ammunition. There's a whir and the clatter of brass before the man walks over. "Check the inventory for Bill's old bolts and strings and bring them over to my cabin later."

"Did the council approve requisitioning all those?" Drake eyes the crossbow in Daryl's hand.

"No one else has asked for them," Garland says. "And Bill had no will. They've just been sitting in the arsenal unused since November."

"Did the council _approve_?" Drake repeats.

"You're quite right," Garland tells him. "I'll run it by the council at the meeting tomorrow and have a formal requisition order sent." He gestures to Daryl for the crossbow, which Daryl hands over reluctantly, looking like a kid the day _after_ Christmas.

After Garland puts it back, he opens the file folder. "Carter Thomas?"

A man raises his hand and steps forward. "That's me."

"You're a gunsmith?"

"Yes, sir. Mayor."

"Then you'll be working in this arsenal, doing repairs. Report at 10 am tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"You got the power to assign all the jobs," Daryl asks, "but not to sign out a crossbow?"

"Well, the council voted to allow me to assign you jobs just to streamline things. They can always decide to reassign you later."

Soon they enter another, cut-out room of the museum, which is empty except for the exhibits, two filing cabinets, a bookcase, and a long table in the center, surrounded by nine chairs. "This is our council chambers, and also our community's museum," Garland tells them. "If y'all want to look around for a moment, this will tell you the history of our camp."

The Kingdom's former inhabitants fan out in the large room. The old display cases have been opened and used to house new objects, and the old display boards have been papered over with pages containing handwritten stories and explanations.

Carol follows Daryl to one of the displays and looks down at the captain's black and white Navy dress hat in a plastic display case. The display board reads: _Captain Henry John Smitty (a.k.a. John Smith) 38 BNE – 7 NE_

"Knew his name couldn't really be John Smith!" Daryl mutters.

Carol smiles. She reads over the narrative. "He really did save a lot of lives," she says.

They move on to a copy of the original town charter in a glass case, with a note on the display board saying it's since been revised and the new charter is available for review at any time in the council archives.

Then they find a wooden memorial plaque hand carved with the list of names of the fifteen Jamestown citizens who died in the raid that Shannon's old camp perpetrated in 5 NE. On the display board beside the plaque is the tale of the assimilation of the raiders' orphans and widows, concluding, "Jamestown is a place of new beginnings, where the past can be left behind."

There's another plaque commemorating the three men who died in the fight against the group Daniel warned Jamestown about, as well as a little biography of Daniel himself, along with a sketch of his profile. "From banishment to hero of the One-day War," the line beneath his face reads. "Jamestown is the home of second chances."

"Sensin' a theme," Daryl mutters.

There are more displays about the early Navy men who founded the place and died in 1 NE, "fighting back the cannibal hordes." There's a display about the first sheriff of "the New Jamestown," and how he was murdered in 3 NE and Garland Barron solved the case and became the second sheriff of the New Jamestown, "only to later become its first mayor."

There's the "hall of infamy," listing all those who have been hanged for treason, murder, rape, and mutiny, along with the dates of their execution. "No new names," Carol observes.

An exhibit on "the Great Sickness" discusses various popular theories as to its origin and contains sketches of "the cannibals," as well as a list of "alternative names" that have been used to describe them by those who have stumbled upon Jamestown: flesh-eaters, rotters, rabids, chompers, the soulless, wendigos, lurchers, the undead, and walkers.

Finally, they stumble upon their _own_ display. Daryl smacks a finger down on the plastic case. "That's _my_ bolt," he growls. "_Thought_ I was short one when they gave back m'bow!"

Carol chuckles. "You can donate it to posterity, Pookie, can't you?"

His throat rumbles.

There's also a knife in one of the cases – the one Daryl took off of one of the sailors and used to kill the other mutineers. Carol looks up at the wall above the cases, where she finds two, full-body charcoal sketches that have been drawn of her and Daryl. In Daryl's sketch, he's holding a knife in each hand, his head bent, like he's ready to come in for a kill. In hers, she's unsheathing her knife. "Those are pretty good likenesses to be drawn from memory," Carol observes.

"Ain't got a scar down my cheek!"

"No, but it _is_ kind of sexy, isn't it?" Carol wiggles an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, well, the artist gave ya bigger tits."

"My tits are big enough, thank you."

"Never said they weren't. Yer tits are goddamn perfect. He just gave ya bigger ones."

"How do you know the artist is a he?" Carol asks.

"'Cause he gave ya bigger tits," Daryl insists.

Carol turns and calls over her shoulder. "Garland? Who draws the sketches?"

The mayor strolls over from a couple he was talking to and comes to a stop beside them. "Andrew. One of the deputies. He used to be a sketch artist for the York County police, before the Great Sickness. You both met him. He helped Earl haul Harold's body out of our cabin."

"Yeah, well, I need a word with Andrew," Daryl grumbles. "Obviously been thinkin' way too much 'bout m'wife's tits."

Carol chuckles. They move on through the displays and find a sketch of the old farm manager. The man's straw hat rests in a plastic display case. Then there's a memorial to Hank, "the patrolman who gave his life in the Mutiny of 7 NE." No mention of _why_ he managed to get his throat slit.

"This shit's ridiculous," Daryl mutters underneath his breath.

"Oh, I don't know," Carol replies. "I think Ezekiel was onto something when he built the Kingdom around tradition and ceremony and legend. That sort of thing has a way of cementing people together." She bumps his shoulder with her own. "You're just going to have to get used to the admiration, Pookie."

Daryl glances up at his sketch on the wall. "I do look pretty damn bad ass," he admits.

As the tour group moves on, the Kingdom's former subjects are awed by the busy docks. The manila file folder rustles. "Jakob Wexler?" Garland says. "You'll be working on boat repairs. And Mark Spruce? You'll be with the fishermen."

Sarah speaks up: "You have a very solid iron fence at your entry, and I saw you had one on the other side of the museum and one extending up along the fields there. I assume your whole camp is fenced in on three sides up to the dock?"

"Yes. And there's wood fencing around the settlement, but that's original, part of the recreation of Fort Jamestown."

"But what about the dock itself?" Sarah asks. "It's _right_ on the river. Walkers can't swim, but people can. And they can bring boats up and down here. It seems like you have a completely open entry point."

"What's your name?" After she tells him, Garland consults his file, and says, "You were a _knight_? I'll assign you to the Sherrif's Department. But to answer your question, if you look at the edge of the dock there," Garland points to one end, "you can see some metal rising above the water about three feet. It's a chain link barrier we have extending across the river on both ends of the dock to the fence on the other shore. It cordons off this dock. We send a rower out to roll it back when we're letting our own ships in and out, but anyone trying to sail in will get caught up on it. Our patrol should see them before they get disentangled. Or that man in the lighthouse will." He points across the river to a lighthouse on a rocky ilsand. "We always keep a long-distance rifleman in there now."

"That would have been a good to have during the mutiny," Carol observes.

"Yes, it _would_ have," Garland agrees. "That's probably what Shannon was thinking when she suggested it."

As they walk on, he points out their gristmill, powered by a water wheel. "We grow corn, oats, and barley and grind them there. George Norton? You'll report to the gristmill at 10 AM tomorrow." He leads them by the farm fields and assigns three people to work there after consulting his notes.

Soon, they enter the bustling settlement. Dog comes bounding out of the stables when he spies Daryl and barks and jumps up on him. "Heel!" Daryl orders, and Dog settles down and joins the tour.

Garland points out the outhouses, the schoolhouse, one of "our three greenhouses" and the chapel "which is also our courthouse." Later, he pauses by the barracks. "There are nine empty beds in here." Turning to Carol and Daryl, he explains, "Some of the men moved into the officer's cabins on the ships after the mutiny, and we lost three in that attack Daniel warned us about." He flips open the manila folder. "We can put nine of your single men in here."

"We have ten," Carol says. "Leave out Juan." She says that because Juan has family – a sister and brother-in-law and will likely want to stay with them.

The single men go inside the barracks and toss their packs on empty bunks.

As the tour group walks on, they circle into one of the bulwarks. Carol peers through the open window at the graveyard in the field beyond. The number of crosses has grown by a dozen since she was last here.

"The iron fence boxing this whole thing in," Sarah asks, "are there gates? Besides the one we came through in front?"

"One on each side and one in the back," Garland replies. "They lock by key from the inside and out."

Garland leads them through the rest of the settlement, past the brewhouse and the store house and the pigs and the goats and another greenhouse. He talks about rations and trading, and then takes them to the Indian Village. They walk past four young children kicking a soccer ball and two more skipping rope. Three men stand smoking in front of their shared hut, and an elderly couple relaxes in wicker chairs in front of theirs. A woman works in her private garden.

It's nearing sunset, and most people must be done with their jobs for the day. Smoke rises through the holes in the roofs of several of the huts, and with it the scent of cooking fish. Conversation and laughter drifts from open doorways. A dog lies asleep in front of the thatch door of one hut. Some people, curious about the passing tour group, hang out their windows or stand in their doorways. A cat, in response to a call of "Here, kitty, kitty!" darts across the path of the group and disappears.

Carol looks back and counts her still homeless people. "That leaves three couples and Juan."

Garland stops in front of the beaded doorway of the whorehut. "They can stay here."

"With the _whores_?" Daryl asks.

"The council shut it down." Garland parts the beads and leads Daryl and Carol inside. The long hut is portioned into four rooms using free standing room dividers, and in the center is a kitchen area where a circular stone fireplace vents through a hole in the roof. "We got it ready in case of growth, but it's not in use."

"It's as if you were planning for us," Carol says.

"We were planning for _anyone_," Garland tells her. "Granted, we thought we'd fill these spaces gradually, over the course of the next year or two, and not all in one day, but…" He shrugs.

"We appreciate the generosity." Carol tells him.

Daryl asks, "What happened to the whores?"

"Well, two died as a consequence of that mutiny. One of them died of complications from pelvic inflammatory disease," Garland answers. "One married a former client and moved in with him, and he works for her rations, and the other two…now they waitress."

"Waitress?" Carol asks.

"Madam Linda is our liquor distributor. That was Shannon's idea. We let the market ration liquor now. Madam Linda runs a tavern, and she and the two waitresses work and live there. They sleep in the loft."

"Ya ain't afraid they'll drink up the inventory?" Daryl asks.

"Not with Madam Linda in charge. I told you she keeps careful accounts. One of the waitresses – she dried out. The other one still struggles, but she uses her tips to supply her habits now. Have your people drop their things, and I'll show y'all."

Garland leads the group beyond the old whorehut to a cabin-like structure with a sign out front that reads, simply, _The Tavern._ "The Tavern's closed at the moment, but it's open for until two p.m. for lunch and from six to ten for dinner. This is the only distribution point for alcohol in town. You pay with tobacco, tea, ammunition, whatever. Prices vary based on supply and demand, so ask the waitresses what the price of the day is when you go in. Whatever you spend here goes back into community stores, except for the manager's cut. Any tips go to the waitresses, but they also get basic rations for working here." To Carol and Daryl he explains, "The tavern has increased our communal supplies. It motivates people to conserve, to scavenge, and to grow more on their own time so they can spend it here."

"It a topless tavern?" Daryl asks.

Carol rolls her eyes toward him. "And why do you want to know that?"

"Just fig'rd people should know 'fore they walk in there."

"No, it's not," Garland answers, "but I won't say some of the men don't go there to gawk at the waitresses anyway." He turns to address the rest of the Kingdom group. "That about wraps up the tour. Why don't y'all get settled, pick up your rations for the coming week, meet your neighbors, and get a good night's sleep?"

"We get paid in _advance_?" a Kingdom woman asks.

"Yes," Garland replies, "but if you shirk your duty there are fines."

"What if we don't like the job we got assigned?" a Kingdom man grumbles.

"You can apply to the town council for a job transfer. We hold open town halls in the Council Chambers. Outside the chambers you'll find a sign listing the times for each week. Come by during one of those, state your case, and you may or may not get a transfer. Anyone can come by during one of those town halls and raise any concern." He nods to Sarah. "For instance, if you have suggestions for improvement to security."

After thanking Garland, the people disperse, and Garland takes Carol and Daryl back to his cabin. On the way, he shows them a barren spot of land where Daryl can build. Garland's cabin looks much the same from the outside, except for the new garden boxes that line either side and an awning that extends from the front door to cover two rocking chairs.

Dog runs straight to the fireplace when they go inside. The canine circles three times on the deer skin rug and then plops down in front of the gently flickering flames. Gary, who looks at least three inches taller than when Carol last saw him, lets go of the car he's running along a bookshelf. Laughing, the three-year-old runs – rather than toddles - over to the rug, saying, "Doggie, doggie, doggie, nice doggie." He falls to his knees before Dog, who jerks up his head to look suspiciously at the boy. Dog turns his head to Daryl, who gives his canine friend a little nod. Dog then proceeds to lick Gary in the face, until the boy topples backward laughing.

"Gentle!" Shannon warns from the kitchen nook, where she's setting the table for dinner. "Pet it gently, Gary!"

"I think the dog's petting him," Garland says.

The cabin's former earthen floor has been overlaid with wood. There's now a stool and a wooden high chair at the kitchen counter, and an extra pot hangs on the wall in the nook. The living room has a second bookcase, with more books as well as board games. There's a rustic cradle in the far corner of the living room. There's also a new manual ceiling fan hanging in the center of the living room, with pully chains for cranking and powering.

"Carol, y'all take those packs right into Gary's bedroom," Shannon tells her. "There are two twin beds in there. I put fresh sheets on them, and you can push them together to make one big bed. That will be your room until you get your cabin built, so that you can have your privacy. Gary will sleep in our room on the trundle bed."

"What about _your_ privacy?" Carol asks.

"Oh, don't worry." Shannon puts a hand on her protruding belly. "It's the third trimester. Garland's hardly getting any anyway."

Garland closes his eyes.

Carol laughs. "You haven't changed a _bit_."

Daryl and Carol drop their things in Gary's room, and then Shannon invites them to sit down at the table. "I know you're going to be shocked," she tells them, "but we're having fish for dinner."

They drink cold tea lightly sweetened with honey, eat, laugh, and catch up. "I'll cook from now on," Carol says.

"Is my cooking _that_ bad?" Shannon asks.

"No!" Carol insists. "This is great. But you're putting a roof over our heads. I want to contribute. And I'm sure you're exhausted with the pregnancy." 

When there's a lull in the conversation, Daryl ventures, "Did you…uh…happen to get that recipe 'fore your mama died?"

"For the strawberry pie?" Shannon asks. "Yes, I finally got it out of her, but I tried to make it and... Well, she must have left some secret ingredient out. It's just not the same. But I can make my version for you if you like."

"'M sure yer version's good, too."

"Just don't get your hopes up," Shannon warns him. She turns to Garland. "Any pretty ladies in your tour group today, baby?"

"Several."

"Garland!" Shannon scolds. "You're supposed to say, _None as pretty as you_."

"Hell," Daryl grunts, "even _I_ know that." He pops a broad bean into his mouth using his fingers.

Shannon shakes her head at her husband. "You're going to have to work on your charm, baby. Elections are coming up in July."

Garland shrugs and cuts his fish. "I thought I'd just rely on my record of honesty, dependability, and hard work."

"If only that was all politics required. You have no idea how hard I campaigned for you after the transition." Shannon pulls her glass of tea closer to herself. "So who was the prettiest?"

"Probably Sarah," Garland answers.

"Damn, man," Daryl says. "Makin' me feel like Casanova over here." Carol chuckles.

"Now who's this Sarah?" Shannon asks Carol.

"One of our former knights. She was a solider and a guard."

"Sharp, too," Garland says. "She was making observations about security."

"And did you tell Sarah you were married?" Shannon asks.

"I thought the wedding ring was the giveaway." Garland glances at Daryl's ring finger. "Well, he's still got it."

"What?" Daryl asks.

"Garland bet me you would lose your wedding ring in under one month," Shannon explains. "That you'd take it off and not be able to find it."

"Hell would I take it off for?" Daryl asks.

"Garland takes his off all the time to shoot on the range because he says it messes up his grip. And he takes it off to wash his hands, and to practice his kung fu because he claims it interferes with his _chi_. He's lost his ring _three times _in the three years we've been married. I keep getting new ones from the box. I told him next time he loses one, he's tattooing my name straight across his forehead."

Carol laughs.

After dinner, Garland wants to show Daryl a new handgun and a new rifle he got off the would-be invaders in the battle Daniel warned them was coming, and Shannon wants to show Carol the phonograph that sits on the window sill next to a stack of old records. "We pinched it from the museum when we found out it actually works, Shannon tells her as she puts on a Beethoven record. "You've got to wind it and wind it, but it plays."

Carol gives it a continuous crank and, eventually, music begins drifting softly from the horn.

When little Gary sees everyone showing off their new toys, he wants to show off his. "Twuck!" he tells Carol, holding up a miniature eighteen wheeler. "Ewaphan!" he tells Daryl, running over to him and shoving a stuffed Elephant into his stomach.

Daryl takes the elephant, hops it on top of Gary's head, and lets out an elephant noise that's a pretty good approximation. The sound makes Carol laugh and Gary's eyes widen. The little boy steps back and looks up at Daryl with surprise.

"That's the noise an elephant makes," Garland explains to him. "He's never heard an elephant before."

"It makes me a little sad," Shannon says, "that he'll never see one in real life. Or any of those zoo animals."

"Who knows," Carol says. "Maybe he will. Ezekiel once had a tiger in the Kingdom."

Garland looks up from the rifle he's just started to disassemble. "A tiger?"

Carol tells him about Shiva.

Shannon, tired from the pregnancy, goes to bed early with Gary. Because of all the trouble in the Kingdom and the pilgrimage to Jamestown, Daryl and Carol haven't had sex in over a week, so Carol hints that she's _tired_, too, but Daryl doesn't notice because he's so busy examining the parts of Garland's new rifle.

Garland, however, _does_ notice. He takes the disassembled barrel of the rifle from Daryl's hands and says, "Hey, Casanova, I think your wife wants you to tuck her in."

[*]

"M' ass is slippin' through this crack," Daryl grumbles and eases away from where the two twin beds are pushed together. They've just had sex, and are warm, a bit sweaty, and trying to get comfortable.

"Why don't we just snuggle in one bed until we're ready to sleep?" Carol suggests. "Then I'll go back to mine to give you space."

"A'ight." Daryl scoots over until he's at the edge of his twin bed and turns on his side so Carol can spoon back against him. He pulls a sheet up over them both, because once they cool off from their lovemaking, the March temperature will chill them.

Carol never does go back to her bed. Safe for the first time in days, behind walls, with a roof over her head, and in her husband's warm embrace, she fades quickly into slumber.


	4. Work-a-day Life

The sound of Daryl roughly lacing up his boots awakens Carol. She rolls over from the window-side of the room toward him where he sits on the edge of the bed. "Why are you getting dressed so early?"

He ties off his laces, turns, and looks down at her. "They got me huntin' with this deer hunter, Mick or Mickey or Mikey or somethin' like that."

"Well, you should probably learn his actual name."

"Will."

"It's not even sunrise."

"Wants to leave early. Been trackin' this one awhile. What're you doin' today?"

She yawns behind her hand and says, "I'm going to check on all our people and make sure they're settled. Then Garland's got me standing watch in that lighthouse for a few hours."

"Sounds borin'."

"Tomorrow I do something else. But for now? I'm going back to sleep."

"How's 'bout a quickie first?" Daryl asks as he tugs the sheet down from off her.

She slaps his hand away and pulls the sheet back up. "You got sex last night. And I'm much too tired for that."

"'N how 'bout just a quick handy?"

She laughs. "I thought you had to get to work."

"C'mon. Ya give the best damn handjobs east of the Mississippi."

"Yeah?" she asks. "Who gives the best ones west of the Mississippi?"

"Ah. Ya don't know 'er."

"_You_ don't know her either," she says, laughing. "You've never even _been_ west of the Mississippi." She kisses the hand he's rested against the bed, over his silver wedding ring. "Have a good day, Pookie." Carol rolls over and goes back to sleep.

[*]

The hunter's name turns out to be _Mitch_. He's a scrawny, short-haired black man, so thin and lean Daryl wonders how he survived this long into an apocalypse, but damn can he track. In addition to being able to track, the man doesn't talk much, so Daryl decides he likes him.

Dog comes along for the hunt, sniffing along the deer trail they follow for a mile. Mitch walks with his wooden Winchester rifle in hand and Daryl with his crossbow. They only encounter one walker, which Mitch leaves to Daryl to take out.

Daryl's the first to spy the beautiful, ten-point buck, sipping from a creek. He gets an arrow in its side and neck, but it's Mitch who makes the killing shot to its head as it takes off running.

They field dress the deer and together bring it back to camp and slap it down on the butcher's table, by which time it's noon, and Daryl has already knocked off six of his required twenty hours for the week.

"Can I buy you a bowl of soup and a drink at The Tavern?" Mitch asks him. "It would be an honor."

"'Cause I helped ya catch a deer?" Daryl asks.

"Because you're the hero of the Mutiny of 7 NE."

"Ah. Maybe some other time. Gotta cabin to build."

Mitch nods and holds out his hand. Daryl's hand is covered in deer blood, but Mitch doesn't seem to mind, and that makes Daryl like him even more.

Daryl washes up and goes back to Garland and Shannon's cabin, which is empty. He eats a couple of pieces of his jerky rations for the week and a handful of nuts from one of the town's several walnut trees. Then he gets himself a shovel from the settlement's tool shed and goes to work digging a base where Garland showed him he could build.

He's only been digging fifteen minutes when Garland joins him with a shovel of his own and starts digging wordlessly beside him. Daryl appreciates the help, but he's also confused by it. "Ya ain't gettin' paid for this."

"I have some free time."

Daryl throws a shovel full of dirt over his shoulder and glances at Garland. "That beard is bad ass, man. Ya look like Stonewall Jackson."

Garland chuckles. "I'm not sure that's a compliment. He always looked a little crazed to me."

"M'brother Merle always used to say the South will rise again. Seems like it has."

"You don't think people are doing better up north?"

"Pfffft."

"How would you know? Have you ever been north of Virginia since this started?"

"Maryland," Daryl mutters.

"Doesn't count. For all we know, they still have civilization in New York."

"They ain't never had civilization in New York," Daryl replies with a smirk.

"I went to college in New York. Got a B.A. in English Literature."

"To be a _detective_? In the Richmond PD?"

"I just needed to check the college-degree box." 

"Guess that 'splains the Faulkner novels."

"Hey, I like Faulkner."

They dig silently for a while, until Daryl says, "Gonna get this cabin built soon as I can, so Gary can have his room back 'n you and Shannon can have yers to yerself."

"Well, it's no rush. The baby will be in our room for the first five or six months anyway, until it's sleeping through the night. Don't feel like I'm trying to run you out. To be honest, I kind of like having another man around."

"'Preciate it, brother," Daryl says, and the men go on digging silently together.

[*]

The water's cold but feels great when Daryl dunks his whole head in the washing trough. He flings his head back, half expecting water to splatter everywhere from off his hair. Sometimes he forgets how short it is now. He scrubs his hands next and dries off with one of the three towels hung on an iron bar attached to the wooden trough.

Garland stuck with him for an hour before he left for a council meeting, but now it's after six in the evening, and everyone seems to be heading home for dinner. He trudges to the Barron cabin. When he steps inside, Dog tears himself from Gary's almost full body hug to come greet him. Daryl lets the dog lick his face but then directs him back to the boy.

Garland is sitting on the couch, reading _As I Lay Dying_, with Shannon's feet in his lap as she leans back against the opposite arm of the couch and also reads. The title of her book catches Daryl's eye: _Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. _He wonders what the hell that's about, because it sure doesn't look like a repair guide.

Carol's cooking on the wood stove. Daryl walks over, kisses her neck, and says, "Smells good."

"Me or the stew?" Carol asks.

"Both."

"It'll be ready in about fifteen minutes."

Daryl wanders to the living room, and Garland lifts Shannon's feet off his lap. "I've got something for you." He wanders into his bedroom and returns with the crossbow from the armory, a bundle of about a dozen bolts, and three unopened packages of strings. "Council says they're yours."

"Well, Merry Christmas to me!" Daryl grins and tries out loading the new crossbow. It's easier to pull back than his own.

Little Gary leaves Dog, runs over, and says, "I pway with it!"

Daryl draws the crossbow out of his reach. "Nah, kid. Ain't somethin' ya play with. Teach ya to shoot this one when yer bigger." He puts the bow and accessories away in his borrowed bedroom, along with his own bow.

When he returns to the living room, Garland is back on the couch with Shannon, and Gary is back with Dog. The little boy scratches the canine behind his ears while his tail thumps happily. Dog may not want to leave this place once Daryl gets that cabin built.

Garland turns a page of his Faulkner novel. "How can ya stand to read that shit?" Daryl asks him as he slumps down into the unoccupied arm chair.

"Faulkner is definitely an investment," Garland replies. "But like many an investment, it pays off."

"Like me, baby?" Shannon asks.

"Well, I got you used and on sale."

Daryl snorts.

Shannon smacks Garland's knee. "Well, _someone's_ not getting laid tonight."

"And that's different from any other night in the past three weeks…how?" Garland asks.

"Hey," Shannon tells him, "you got it good during the second trimester, baby. You've stored up nuts for the winter."

"That's not how that works."

Gary, tired of playing with Dog, runs to one of the bookcases, picks up a little fire truck, and runs back. The boy sets the truck on Daryl's knee, says, "Wooh Wooh Wee Wooh!" and pushes it all the way up his leg, making it move faster and faster as he does so, until he almost drives it straight into Daryl's balls. "Whoa!" Daryl cries, grabbing Gary's had and moving it and the truck up into the air. "Careful, kid!"

"Looks like Gary's found a new play mate," Carol observes with a chuckle from the kitchen.

[*]

Later that night, Carol, with her head on one of Daryl's bare shoulders, traces a heart with a fingertip on his ribcage. He squirms, and she stops, letting her fingers still on his side. "I think Gary's taken a liking to you."

"Mhm. Maybe."

"Does it ever make you sad," she asks, "that you won't be a father?"

Daryl yawns and shifts his head on the pillow. "Least 'm getting' laid."

"It's a serious question." By the time she and Daryl got married, she hadn't had a period in over six months. Now, it's been almost a year. Menopause was easy for her, not matching the horror stories she'd heard about it in her early forties, but maybe it was fitting that at least _one_ thing in her life be easy. And, strangely, it hasn't seemed to affect her libido at all, or maybe it has and she just doesn't know because, for the first time in her life, she really enjoys sex. 

"Rather be an uncle anyhow. Uncles get to do all the cool shit with none of the blame."

"You're going to miss Hershel and Judith, aren't you?"

"See 'em in November, if we take a road trip for that trade fair."

"We will. I want to see Henry. And the others. See that they've settled well."

"'S make ya sad?" Daryl asks. "That ya can't? Have a baby?"

"I lost Sophia. I lost Mika and Lizzie. I've had more than my share of children and tragedy. Henry turned out well. He's safe. He's becoming a man. I don't know that I'd want to start that all over now anyway. It's too much like having your heart walking around outside your body." She raises her head to peer down at him. "But I bet we'd make beautiful babies."

"Damn right," he agrees. "'N they'd be strong, too. Tough as nails."

"And smart. They'd be geniuses."

"'N great hunters and archers."

"Master chefs. And always polite and respectful."

"Mhmh," Daryl agrees. "Our kid's'd be perfect."

"And we'd be the perfect parents."

They both snort.

"C'mere," he murmurs.

She slides up a little, and he kisses her tenderly before she turns off the oil lamp and they settle into sleep.

[*]

Either Garland thinks Carol is a jack of all trades, or he's trying to figure out where she best fits, because she has a different work assignment every day this week. Today, she's supposed to meet two men at the west gate to help them inspect and clean the side and back fences. Jamestown has wooden pikes running through the gaps between the iron bars of their fence, positioned at an angle, so the walkers get speared on them if they come too close. They check those pikes twice a week.

When she walks beyond the graveyard toward the awaiting men, one of them, a thirty-something redhead, mutters to the other, "That's Carol Stuart? She doesn't look anything like her sketch. Not nearly as hot."

"Carol _Dixon_," Carol calls to them, and the redheaded flushes to discover he's been overheard from such a distance.

When she reaches them, the other man says, "I apologize for the rudeness of my co-worker. I'm Dante, and you look _fantastic_." He holds out his hand to her, and smiling, she shakes it. He reminds Carol a little of T-Dog in skin tone and build and because of his bald head, but his face is more attractive than T-Dog's was, and he has a goatee like Morgan once wore. Suddenly, she misses those two men who once saved her life, in two different places, in two different times, when she was two different people. Dante points to the freckled redhead. "And this jackass is Arnie."

Arnie waves to her apologetically before unlocking the gate with a key. He locks it again on the other side when they're out.

They walk for about a half a mile and eventually near a walker that's caught up on one of the pikes. "It's mine," Arnie says as he draws his knife. He strolls cockily toward the creature. When he's still a few feet from it, Carol throws her knife. It twirls through the air and thunks straight in the walker's left eye, sending the growling creature into a dead slump.

Dante laughs, and Arnie's shoulders fall. Still chuckling, Dante strolls past Arnie and removes Carol's knife. He brings it back to her, lying it across his open hands, like a royal offering. "Nice throw," he says with a smile as she takes it back.

The two men peel the walker off the pike, and then Dante checks the wood for soundness. It's splintered. He fishes a little notebook and pencil out of his front pocket and murmurs, "Section 17, Number 5" as he writes it down.

They make a complete loop to the west gate, finding only three more walkers caught up. If they clean these fences twice weekly, Carol thinks, they must not draw more than ten walkers a week, even with the occasional shooting on the practice range. All of that work "fighting back the cannibal hordes" in the first two years of Jamestown must have paid off.

The job takes three hours, and most of that is just walking and looking at the fence. Dante seems more interested in testing the strength of various pikes than in slaying anything, but Carol lets Arnie kill one of the creatures, while she takes out the other two.

"I don't understand why you need three people for this job," Carol says as Arnie fishes out his gate key.

"We don't," Dante replies. "Garland must be considering replacing Arnie with you."

"And putting me back on outhouse duty for those six hours?" Arnie grumbles. "Goddamnit!"

While Arnie unlocks the east gate, Dante smiles at Carol. "Can I buy you a drink at the tavern sometime?"

"You _do _know I'm married, right?" she asks.

"It's just a drink," Dante says.

"And you know who she's married _to_," Arnie reminds him. "The guy who took down six navy men, two of them _at once_."

Dante's smile fades.

**[*]**

After trying out his new crossbow on the hunt, Daryl decides it won't become his go-to, but he does like it. It's just not as familiar as his own arm to him. He uses it on a squirrel, and again on a stray walker in the woods that they find feasting on their wounded deer when they finally catch up to it. "Fuck," Daryl mutters. "We still get credit for the hours if we don't catch shit?"

"We have a monthly quota in pounds of meat," Mitch replies. "The council knows there are good days and bad. As long as we meet the quota, and we easily will, all our hours tracking count."

"Good." Daryl wants time to work on that cabin, after all.

"How about that lunch and drink today?" Mitch asks. "At the tavern? On me?"

"Sorry, nah, gotta cabin to build."

When they get back to Jamestown, Daryl resumes digging the base.

[*]

"I think maybe I got hit on today," Carol says that evening at the Barron family dinner table. Gary has already been fed and is playing with his cars.

Daryl narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Who?" Shannon asks.

"Dante," Carol murmurs as she takes a bite of the spinach she cooked in stored bacon grease.

"Well, he _is_ a charmer," Shannon says.

"Hell is this Dante asshole?" Daryl grumbles.

"He's a carpenter," Garland says. "And a lumberjack. He sawed and shaped all those pikes along our fence line, and he keeps them in shape." 

"He ain't married?" Daryl asks.

"No," Garland replies.

"But he's no trouble at all, is he, baby?" Shannon asks.

"Just the one time."

"What one time?" Daryl wants to know.

"Dante was just having a little Friday night fun," Shannon insists.

"He was streaking naked and drunk through the entire settlement," Garland says, "singing 'You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman' at the top of his lungs."

Carol shuts her lips tightly to hold in her laugh so she won't spit out her water. After she swallows it down, she coughs.

"That was always Garland's _favorite_ part of being sheriff," Shannon tells them. "Putting drunks in the drunk tank. Although I don't know why you felt the need to lock up poor Dante, baby. He wasn't hurting anybody."

"It was the best and safest place for him to sleep it off. Besides, women and children don't need to be exposed to that sort of thing."

"Well, I don't think you heard any of the women complaining once they got a gander."

Given the glowers of both Daryl and Garland, Carol thinks it's best to change the subject. "Do you have any use for our tobacco? We each got half an ounce for our weekly rations." Combined, that has to be enough for forty cigarettes. "But Daryl doesn't smoke anymore."

"Oh, honey, hold onto that," Shannon tells her. "It's like _gold_ in Jamestown. The smokers are always willing to trade for it." 

"Does Dante smoke?" Daryl asks.

"He smelled like he did," Carol says.

"Hell ya _smellin'_ 'em for?" Daryl grumbles.

Shannon laughs. "It's kind of hard not to when you're standing right next to him. He smokes like a chimney. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause I think I know what to do with that 'bacco. Could use a lumberjack to help me make some logs. How many hours ya think he'd give me for a whole ounce?"

"Quite a few," Garland says.

Gary runs up to the table and sets a police car right next to Daryl's plate. "Car hungwy!"

Daryl spears a piece of rabbit on his fork, holds it out to the front of the car as if feeding it, and says, "Nom nom nom nom nom."

Gary laughs in an all-out boy-giggle, and pretty soon, Daryl's laughing, too.

[*]

Carol awakens to the sound of birds chirping. She drags herself into a sitting position and sees Daryl standing shirtless before the small, circular mirror on the wall. He strokes his goatee, which has finally grown back since his bet with Jerry.

"Admiring yourself?" she asks.

He turns. "Thinkin' of growin' a full beard. Like Garland."

"No."

"Hell not? Think his looks bad ass. 'N he said I should grow one."

"Did he now?" Carol, wearing only the tank top and panties she slept in last night, eases to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet are chilly against the wood floor. "I think you have a bit of man crush on Garland."

"Man crush? Fuck's that? Ain't got no man crush. Just wanna beard like his."

"I prefer the goatee."

"Well you ain't got to wear it."

"Well, _you_ don't have to feel it between your legs. And you don't sleep with Garland, so…" She shrugs. "I think you should take my opinion under advisement."

"Yeah?" He turns, prowls toward her, and pushes her back down on the bed, with her feet still on the floor. "Ya like the way it feels 'tween yer legs?" He kneels near her feet and tugs her panties all the way off. "That what ya like?" Daryl wraps her legs around his neck and kisses the inside of her thigh. "Hmmm…m'Carol? That what ya like?"

She bites her bottom lip and digs her nails into his shoulders.

"Hmm?" he trails kisses down the inside of her leg, and then up the inside of her other leg, and nips at her thigh. "That what ya like?"

"Yes. _Please_."

He turns his head and flicks his tongue out against her clit. Carol jerks up off the bed.

When her bottom comes back down, she digs her fingers into the strands of his short hair at the top of his head and pushes him back to the spot. "Again," she orders.

He obeys, and this time she only jerks her hips in a circle.

"Slow and steady now," she breathes. "Ohh…yeah…good…ohhh….like that…."

Daryl follows her instructions until she's shuddering. Then he kisses his way up her body, pushing her tank top up as he does so, and dragging it off over her head. "My turn," he growls as he stands and drops his sweat pants to reveal his erection. He lowers himself over her and, while she's still trembling slightly, pushes himself inside, moaning, "Sweet, sweet Carol…"

[*]

After her pleasant morning wake-up call, Carol checks in on all her people and is confident they're settling well. Three of the single Kingdom women _already_ have Jamestown boyfriends, which she supposes is not all that surprising. They have a much larger menu of single men to choose from in Jamestown than they did in the Kingdom.

As she's walking out of the museum, she pauses and looks at the map on the wall. The James River, she notices, flows all the way to the Chesapeake Bay. Oceanside is situated along that Bay. She wonders if the river is navigable the whole way. She files the question away in her mind to ask if she runs into one of the navy officers. But today, she's supposed to be helping the veterinarian, since she learned a lot from Hershel, though she mostly learned it for use on _humans_.

She enjoys chatting with the veterinarian about her work on the council as they check on a sick cow and then a horse. Carolyn tells her that being a councilwoman probably requires fifteen hours a week, but only counts for ten in terms of rations. "People don't want a professional political class anymore. So we all still have to work at other jobs, too."

"Are you running for reelection in July?" Carol asks her.

"I think so. There's just not enough women in the government, and I stand a good chance of staying on."

"Do you think Garland will be mayor again?"

"The mayor is chosen a day after the council election," Carolyn explains, "from among the nine elected council members, in a follow-up election. Council members can decline to be on the ballot for mayor, and last year, we all did, except Garland and David."

"David?"

"Captain David Cummings. David didn't expect to win. He just wanted to get a feel for his support. But I think he's making a more serious bid this year. "

"Do you think he'd make a good mayor?" Carol asks.

"He'd make an acceptable one, but I'm voting for Garland again. Council members can serve up to seven one-year terms total, but the mayor is limited to only two. So, eventually, I'll probably vote for David." She smiles. "If I'm not running against him. But I'm not throwing my hat in that ring until Garland's stepped out of it. His interim time doesn't count, so he can serve another full term come July."

A farmer leans in the open doorway of the barn where they're working. His thick, wavy black hair spills out from under his yellow straw hat and curls on his forehead. There's just a hint of gray in it. He's probably about Carol's age. "Afternoon, Carolyn," he drawls in a slow, deep, Southern voice. "Is she ready to work?"

"Me?" Carol asks.

"The horse."

"This is Gunther," Carolyn tells her. "He's the assistant farm manager, until Ernesto retires, and then he'll take over."

Gunther wipes his left hand down his overalls to brush off the dirt and extends it. Carol shakes. "Pleasure to meet you," he says. "You're the heroine of the Mutiny of 7 NE?"

"That's what they tell me," Carol replies.

"And no, the horse needs another day of rest," Carolyn tells him. "Sorry." 

"I guess I'll just have to my back into again today," Gunther replies. 

[*]

Between standing guard, cleaning the fence, and helping with the animals, Carol's knocked out ten of her twenty hours for the week. So in the late afternoon, she offers to help Shannon in her private garden box, where the pregnant woman is doing some light watering with a can. "Besides the council," Carol asks her as she plucks weeds, "what are you doing for work?" She's still getting a feel for how Jamestown operates.

"They have me on light duty because of the pregnancy," Shannon replies. "I fulfill my other ten hours verifying inventory. It's insanely boring, but it's not physical."

"Have you picked out a name yet?" Carol asks. "For the baby?"

"Bonnie Ellen if it's a girl, after my mama and Garland's late sister. Ivan Daryl if it's a boy, after my father, and after _your_ Daryl. Garland's idea. He wanted to honor the man who saved his life."

Carol can't wait to tell Daryl that, if Garland hasn't already. "How's the pregnancy progressing?"

"Swimmingly, according to Dr. Ahmad. Garland's pretty excited, I have to say. He's been an excellent father to Gary, but something about having one that's going to look like him…I don't know. It's got him strutting around like a peacock."

"He's not frustrated over not _getting any_?" Carol teases.

"Oh, I was exaggerating," Shannon tells her. "I stop by the mayor's office twice a week, lock the door, pull the blinds, and give him a quick BJ." Carol laughs, even though she's growing accustomed to the oversharing. "Because you know how men get when they go too long without a little release." Shannon tilts her watering can over the beets. "Garland gets real grouchy after four days. Doesn't Daryl?"

Carol tosses a handful of weeds in the compost bag. "Back in the Kingdom, Daryl used to be gone for a week at a time sometimes, to lead our trade team. He was never irritable when he got back. But he also _needs_ to roam, or he _does_ get irritable."

"Y'all have an open marriage?" Shannon asks in shock.

"What? No! I mean, physically, he needs to roam. He needs to go out and hunt, or go out on supply runs, or go out with the trade team."

"Oh, phew," Shannon says. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, if that's what a couple _chooses_ to do. But me? I'd cut a bitch if she touched _my_ man."

Carol laughs.

"Wouldn't you?" Shannon asks.

"I'd trust Daryl to handle it if someone came onto him."

"And you wouldn't confront her?" Shannon asks skeptically. "Even if she _knew_ y'all were married?"

"I don't think so."

"I wish I had your aplomb," Shannon tells her.

"My _aplomb_? I don't think I've ever heard anyone use that word in real life."

"It's on my word of the day calendar today."

"Calendar?" Carol asks. "From what year?"

"_This_ year. Some of the kids made them in school to practice vocabulary and gave them as gifts to all the council members."

"Are you running for re-election in July?" Carol asks her.

"I don't think so. Not with the baby coming. I don't want to put on my politician face when I'm dealing with no sleep and diapers and breast feeding. I'll probably take a year off and then run again the following year." That's a shame, Carol thinks. Unless another woman steps up, that could mean the council could drop down to only two women. "How about you?"

"How about me what?" Carol asks.

"Are _you_ running for Town Council in July?"

"Me?" Carol asks in surprise. They _just_ got here. July is only a little over three months away. Who would vote for such a newcomer?

"Why not? You'll be a full citizen by the end of April. After that, you can run for anything. And, I mean, you used to be a _Queen_. So I suppose you know a thing or two about governance. And let's face it, you've got a lot of name recognition."

Carol pushes down some fertilizer into the soil and contemplates Shannon's unexpected suggestion.


	5. Building the Cabin

Daryl has traded his and Carol's weekly tobacco rations for Dante's help. "How 'bout this one?" he asks as they stop in front a tree in the designated lumber area.

"You don't want that. The log diameter is too dissimilar at the two ends." 

A few minutes later, they finally find a tree Dante deems usable. "'S too short," Daryl says. "Won't make many logs."

"But it will make good ones."

They fell it together. Then they saw off the branches. "I can use some of those for replacement pikes for the fence," Dante notes. After sawing the trunk into logs, Dante says, "You need to seal the ends as soon as possible."

"Know that."

"I'd use laytex paint. We've got some in storage. The council doesn't charge for it. Just sign it out." Dante sits down on the tree stump and rolls a cigarette. "You smoke?"

"Not anymore." Quitting wasn't a conscious choice. Daryl just ran out of cigarettes that didn't disintegrate at his touch. He's awfully tempted, but here in Jamestown, that would be like lighting hundred dollar bills on fire.

"Good for you." Dante lights up. "It's an expensive habit." He gestures with his cigarette to the pile of logs they've produced. "You know, it's really better to be doing this in winter when the sap content is lower."

"Can't wait 'til winter. 'S ten months away."

"So I take it you aren't drying the logs for six to twelve months either?"

Daryl shakes his head. "Gonna build wet."

"They'll shrink."

"Know. Gonna use a green log buildn' system that allows for it. 'N 'm gonna use chinkin' 'tween the logs. Anytime they move, just reapply more."

"Sounds like you know what you're doing. But even with that…I'd give them a month in the sun first."

"I will," Daryl says. "'S Why I want to get 'em cut as soon as possible. Can ya help me cut down another tree today?"

"It's almost dinner time. And I'm not sawing up an entire second tree for just that one ounce."

"Just help me bring it down. Saw it m'self."

"Three rounds of ammo," Dante says. "To fell the second tree. That's enough for a pint at the Tavern."

"Hope ya don't think yer buyin' my wife that pint," Daryl growls.

Dante tilts his head up and coolly blows a stream of smoke into the air. "She told you I offered to buy her a drink?"

"Mhmhm."

"I was just wanted to say thank you. She killed that traitorous commander before he had a chance to hurt Shannon." 

Daryl looks at him through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"We cool?" Dante asks.

"Will be, when ya fell that tree."

"I will, for three rounds of nine millimeter."

"Tell ya what. Since ya was gonna spend three rounds to buy a drink for m'wife just to tell 'er _thank you_, why don't ya cut down that tree for free, and I'll by 'er a drink 'n tell 'er it was from you?"

Dante sighs. "Fine. But take a breather, man."

Daryl does. He unscrews the top of his canteen and takes a few swigs as he watches Dante finish his cigarette, but as soon as the man stubs it out beneath his thick, tan work boots, Daryl jerks his head toward the trees. "C'mon."

[*]

After dinner, Carol sits in the rocking chair and sews a fresh patch onto the ripped-out knee of Daryl's pants. "How did you tear it this time?" 

Daryl, who's sitting in the armchair, works wax into the strings of his bow. "Caught up on a tree branch."

Shannon's hand falls open and her book slides to the floor as she drifts off to sleep against Garland's shoulder on the couch. Garland turns a page of one of his volumes of _Gun Digest_. "Which do you think is a better deer rifle, Daryl? The Ruger American or the Weatherby Vanguard Series 2?"

"Like the longer barrel on the Weatherby," Daryl replies.

"Me, too. And I don't like the tang safety on the Ruger. I had one that was always getting bumped off."

"I like the accuracy of the Weatherby," Carol chimes in, just to remind Garland that she knows her guns, too.

"Accuracy has more to do with the shooter than the weapon," Garland says.

"Well, I'm an accurate shooter."

"I'm aware," Garland replies. "I saw that tight group you shot on the practice range today."

Daryl looks up from his bow. "Ya wasted ammo at the range?"

"I worked as the range safety officer today," Carol replies, "so I figured I'd take a turn."

"Ammo's like money here," Daryl tells her. "Ya can buy all sorts of shit with it."

"I know, but I haven't had a chance to practice target shooting in a long time." "

"She's required to practice once a week anyway," Garland says, "if she's going to be a guard, a fence cleaner, or a range safety officer. She gets five extra rounds for that purpose."

"Sounds like ya used a lot more 'n yer five practice rounds," Daryl mutters.

"I did. This _one_ time."

Daryl hears the perturbed tone in her voice and drops it.

She pokes the needle into the patch and asks Garland, "So am I just going to keep switching jobs?"

"Which did you like most?" he asks.

"To be honest, standing guard in the lighthouse was boring. Cleaning the fence was more interesting, because I at least got to kill some walkers. I enjoyed working with Carolyn, but I really trained under Hershel to use those skills on _humans_, not animals, and you already have two doctors and a medic. And I don't really like yelling at people for safety infractions. I got enough opportunity to do that being a mother."

Garland chuckles.

"So I'd rather you just put me wherever you feel you most need me."

"I'm going to put you permanently on fence cleaning, then. Dante says you're more efficient at killing cannibals than Arnie, and he'd rather work with you."

"Bet he would," Daryl grumbles.

"I can handle Dante," Carol assures him.

"But that will only be twice a week, three hours each time," Garland says. "So for your other fourteen hours, why don't you try patrol next week? That at least involves moving around, and we already know how observant you are when it comes to things being…_off_."

"That sounds good to me," Carol replies.

"Once you're a citizen, Earl will formally deputize you."

"Did you hear that?" Carol asks Daryl. "I'm going to be a deputy."

"Deputy Dixon," Daryl says with a smirk.

Shannon snorts awake and asks, "What did you do with my book, baby?" .

"You dropped it on the floor when you nodded off."

Shannon bends down, scoops up her book, and finds her place again.

Little Gary gets a game called Hi-Ho-Cherry-O from the second bookcase and says, "Unca Dahwall pways." It's a minute before Daryl even realizes the kid is talking about _him_, but he sets aside his crossbow, leaves his tin of wax on the arm of the chair, and slides down onto the floor to play. He hasn't been called _uncle_ since his last trade trip before winter, when he got to see Judith at Alexandria and Hershel at the Hilltop. 

The boy opens the game and puts a bunch of little plastic cherries in the holes on two trees and sits cross legged before the board with one hand on Dog's back. "Go!" he orders Daryl.

"How ya play?"

"Spin the spinner," Garland tells him as he turns a page, "and whatever number it lands on, take that many apples from your tree."

"They're cherries, baby," Shannon corrects him.

Garland ignores the correction. "The first one who gets all their apples in their bushel wins."

"'S a dumb ass game," Daryl mutters.

"He's _three_," Garland says. "It's amazing he can count already."

"Daryl's just afraid he's going to lose," Carol teases as she tugs on her needle to tighten the thread.

"You never played that game as a boy?" Shannon asks him.

"Didn't have no games 'n my house. 'Cept darts. But m'brother just drew the dart board on the wall." Daryl leans over and spins. "Hell's it mean if it lands on a dog?"

"You have to put two apples back in your apple tree," Garland explains. "If you have any apples missing from it."

"_Cherries_, baby. They're clearly cherries."

"Genetically mutated monster cherries, perhaps," Garland replies, and Carol chuckles as she pokes her needle back into Daryl's pants. 

"It's not Hi-Ho-Apple-Oh," Shannon insists.

"So I don't get to do _nothin'_?" Daryl asks.

"I'm afraid not," Garland tells him. "Not this turn."

"Dumbass game."

Gary flicks the spinner hard. It goes whirling around and lands on the picture with three cherries. "Yes!" the three-year-old says and fumbles to pick up three cherries and put them in the bushel.

"Ya got four," Daryl tells him.

"Well he's not very coordinated at this age," Carol says. "Just let it go, Pookie."

Daryl does, not even blushing at the nickname anymore. Shannon and Garland have both heard it by now. He spins again. "Hell's it mean if it lands on a bird?"

Garland chuckles. "It means you put two apples back in the tree."

"But that's what the damn dog meant!" Daryl grumbles, and Dog barks, and Carol laughs.

[*]

The next day, Carol cleans the fences with Dante again. Dante's brought a replacement pike with him that he must have cut and shaped since the last time they cleaned. "Looks like it's just you and me from now on. The dynamic duo. Think you can handle it?"

"As long as you don't sing Aretha while we do it," Carol says as she swings open the gate for him.

"Oh. God. You heard about that?"

Carol nods as she locks the gate behind them.

"It was not my finest moment," Dante admits. "But in my defense, I was new to Jamestown. I'd only been here a month, and I wasn't aware of how strong that moonshine was."

They don't encounter any walkers between the gate and the broken pike, though Carol keeps an eye on the tree line as they walk in case any should emerge. She helps Dante replace the pike, and then they move on. "Did your husband give you that thank you drink from me?"

"What thank you drink?"

"He offered to pay me three rounds to fell a second tree, and I told him he could keep those three rounds and use them to buy you a thank you drink from me."

"He didn't mention it."

Dante shrugs. "Well, I guess he must have drunk it himself."

"I'm sure he didn't," Carol says. Daryl's hoarding those rounds so he can buy more labor, most likely, and she doesn't blame him. He's been working himself to exhaustion in the few days they've been here.

She gets to kill four walkers today, one coming out of the woods and not even caught up on a pike. She's glad for the practice. She could get soft living in a camp as well guarded and secured as Jamestown.

[*]

Later that afternoon, Daryl is hard at work on the cabin sizing and sawing logs. He's already knocked out his twenty for the week, and Carol knows he's been at it since the morning. She makes him a glass of cold lemonade using her frozen one-ounce ration of lemon juice for the week and half of her sugar ration and brings it to him where he works.

As she walks toward the building site, Carol finds Daryl has an audience. Two women sit on a flat bench a few yards away, watching him work and whispering to each other between giggles. Their eyes are _all over_ Carol's man. Of course, her man _is_ a sight to see. He's shed his long sleeve shirt and the arms of his white undershirt are ripped off. The muscles of his tan shoulders and biceps glisten with sweat, and his ass is on display as he bends over to throw himself into the sawing.

Well, Carol thinks, if those women want a show, she'll give them one. She strolls over, runs her hand over the seat of his pants, and squeezes. He stands straight in surprise, leaving the saw lodged in the wood.

"Lemonade?" Carol asks.

"Thanks." He drains it thirstily.

Carol takes the empty glass from his hand, hooks a finger into the beltloop of his work pants, and drags him close for a kiss. He receives it happily enough at first, but when he threatens to pull away from her, she trails her lips up to his ear and does something she knows for a fact drives him crazy – which is to rake her teeth over his earlobe in just such a way…

Daryl groans, crushes his lips back down on hers, and thrusts his tongue inside. He tastes bitter sweet from the tart lemonade. With the cool, empty glass still in one hand, Carol squeezes his arm with the other. When he comes up for breath, she says, "The Barron cabin is empty. Wanna screw around?"

"Hell yeah."

As they walk toward the cabin, he puts a hand on the small of her back to urge her on. Carol glances over her shoulder at the women on the spectator's bench. One appears disappointed, and the other looks downright jealous. Maybe she didn't use a knife, but Carol thinks maybe she just cut a bitch anyway. Shannon would be proud.

[*]

Once they're in their bedroom, Daryl yanks off his undershirt. "Sorry I ain't showered."

"I don't mind a sweaty man _sometimes_," Carol assures him as she wraps her arms around his neck and inhales his musky, masculine scent. She kisses his ear and whispers into it, "Tell me what you want."

He blinks in surprise, probably because that's usually _his_ line. She's let it be his line, perhaps, for too long. It's been fantastic learning how good sex can feel for her if she just describes what she wants, and with her history of abuse, it's not easy being vulnerable enough to open herself up to blanket requests. "I _want_ to do what you want," she assures him. "Just tell me."

He draws away, and his eyes have darkened. His voice is husky soft when he says, "Undress for me. Real slow."

It makes her blush, but she does, shedding her clothes a little at a time while his eyes flit over every inch of her. When she's naked before him, he tells her to sit on the bed, and he walks over to stand in front of her.

Carol feels a bit exposed because he's got his pants on and she's stark naked. She's puzzled when he takes one of her hands and suckles each of her four fingers. It feels good, and there's something strangely sexy about his intensity when he does it, but he's never done that before. "Lie back," he orders, and she does, with her feet on the floor. She realizes he made her fingers wet for lubricant when he says, "Spread yer legs open, 'n then touch yerself. Wanna watch ya play."

That's not something she's ever done in front of a man, and her flesh grows warm with embarrassment, but she closes her eyes to shut out the shyness and does what he asks.

"Like that?" he asks. "Feel good?"

"_Yes_." It does. She knows her own body after all. It's embarrassing and exciting at the same time.

The clang of his belt buckle coming undone sends a small shiver up her back. "Now use yer other hand on yer tits. Play with 'em for me." She cups one of her breasts with her own hand, and then the other. His zipper rasps down. "That's a good girl. Pinch yer nipples for me. Mhmmm…." His buckle clinks as his pants fall to the floor. "Yeah, make m' good 'n hard." The mattress shifts. He's closer now, on the bed beside her, probably lying sideways to watch. His breath is hot on her neck, and his voice is raspy deep when he says, "That's a good girl. Play." His warm lips come down on her bare shoulder. "Mhmmm…" It's all in his throat, that pleased murmur. "Is m'Carol getting' good n' wet?"

"Yes." She shivers, some from the pleasure she's giving herself, and some from the excitement of knowing she's turning him on.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, "sexy, naughty girl. Keep goin'. Play."

She can hear his breath thicken, and her own picks up as, eyes closed, she continues to touch herself beneath his hot gaze.

She's close to cuming when the bed shifts again, suddenly. She opens her eyes to find him over her, holding himself up by his arms.

His eyes meet hers. "Ya ready for me?"

Biting her bottom lip, she nods and moves her hand away from between her legs.

As he pushes in, he groans, "Awwwww….holy…fuck…._Carol._"

It's quick from there, a few hard thrusts and grunts followed by a hot explosion and strangled cry of pleasure. He throws himself on his back and apologizes for his early finish.

"I guess that really wound you up, huh?" she teases.

"M'sorry. Shouldn't of waited so long." He rolls on his side and kisses her. "Want me to touch ya?"

She nods, and he slides his hand between her legs to finish her off while they kiss. It's only a small pop and shudder this time, but she doesn't mind. She's happy because she was able to give him something he clearly wanted, something he's probably wanted for a long time but never dared ask for. "Did you have fun?" she whispers.

He smiles dopily. "Hell of a lotta."

[*]

Daryl's drifting off, half conscious, fuzzily wondering what the hell he did to get so lucky this afternoon, when Garland's voice sounds in the living room: "Daryl, are you in here?"

"Shit," Daryl mutters, and bolts upright. He pulls on his clothes hastily. Meanwhile, Carol crawls under the sheets and curls up to sleep.

Daryl notices his zipper is down when he emerges from the bedroom and tugs it up quickly. "Yeah?" he asks Garland as he clicks the door shut behind himself.

"You can't leave your tools unattended on your building site. The little kids go out there to play, run around, and the teacher can't watch them all every second."

"Oh, shit. 'M sorry. Got distracted. 'M goin' back right now."

"I put them back in the tool shed already. Just don't do it again."

"Someone get hurt?"

"A kid cut himself on the saw. Nothing serious. Just a little cut. He's all patched up. And I suppose he'll learn from it."

"Man, 'm – "

"-Just don't do it again. Problem solved. Want some help?"

"With the cabin?" Daryl asks, and when Garland nods, he says, "_Love_ some help."

"I've only got an hour," Garland tells him, "but I'll do what I can. Have you seen Carol? Shannon was looking for her."

"Uh…'S takin' a nap."

"Ah. I see..." Garland chuckles. "We used to make good use of our afternoons, too. I can't wait until this baby is born and is sleeping through the night." Daryl is following him out the door when he says, "You know, if it's a boy, we're naming it after you. Well, you and Shannon's father. Ivan Daryl. Did Carol tell you?"

Daryl's too stunned to speak. "Nah…" he manages finally. "Must of forgot."

"Well, I hope you don't mind."

"Hell would I _mind_?" Daryl grins. "VanDaryl. 'S awesome, man. Sounds like a royal redneck."

Garland smirks. "VanDaryl sounds like a vampire slayer in a comic book."

"'S gonna be weird, though, when he's a baby. Can't call a _baby_ VanDaryl."

"Well, we weren't actually planning on _VanDaryl_. I think Shannon will end up calling him Ivan. Unless she's angry. And then he'll be _Ivan Daryl Barron, come here this minute_! Of course, it could be a girl."

"Whatchya gonna call it then?"

"Bonnie Ellen. I don't much care for _Bonnie_, to be honest, but, I wasn't going to fight Shannon over honoring her mother. I wasn't entirely thrilled with _Ivan_, either, to be honest. I'm not sure why I got to choose the middle names, and she got to choose the first ones."

"Well, she is the one carryin' it round for nine months n' givin' birth to it. 'N feedin' it from 'er tits."

"Fair point."

By now they're at the tool shed and Daryl gets the two-man buck saw, since he has help. Together they head to work on the cabin.

[*]

It's only his sixth night in Jamestown, but Daryl's already gotten used to these quiet evenings by the fire, with Garland and Shannon snuggled on the couch, Carol sitting in the rocking chair and sewing, reading, or sharpening her knives, and Gary playing with Dog on the deerskin rug between them. At the moment, Daryl's sitting in the armchair and stripping off a damaged fletching from one of his crossbow bolts in order to replace it with a new one.

Gary stands up and runs over toward his armchair. Daryl blocks him with his left arm before the boy can grab the bolt. "Ain't a toy," Daryl tells him.

"Pway! Unca Dahwall, pwease pway!"

"Get a game 'n I'll play with ya when 'm done with this."

Gary smiles and runs to the bookcase. Little kids always run like drunks, Daryl thinks, and Gary almost stumbles into Carol's rocking chair on the way.

"Who's your celebrity freebie, Carol?" Shannon asks.

The sharpening stone rasps over the blade of Carol's knife. "My what?"

"Garland and I have agreed we each get one free pass to have sex with a celebrity if they happen to have survived the apocalypse and show up at the gates of Jamestown. Mine's Tom Cruise."

"You wouldn't look at Tom Cruise twice if he wasn't a famous actor," Garland tells her. "You know he's only five foot seven?"

"Just because I married a tall man doesn't mean I don't find short men attractive."

"5'7" ain't _short_," Daryl insists. "'S average!"

"Daryl's 5'10"," Carol explains. "He likes to think he's tall."

"Well Garland's 6'1"." Shannon pats his knee. "But _that's_ not why I'm attracted to you, baby."

"Who's Garland's freebie?" Carol asks.

"Nicole Kidman," Shannon tells her. "Garland's got a thing for redheads. Lucky me I guess."

"She's blonde," Garland says as he turns a page of his book.

"She dyes it. She's a redhead by birth." Shannon fluffs her red curls. "I don't know why you'd ruin that color by dying it _blonde_."

"I used to have reddish brown hair when I was younger," Carol says. "It went gray before I was thirty-six, and I just decided to run with it."

"Well it looks great," Shannon assures her. "That's a beautiful shade."

Daryl looks up from fiddling with his bolt and tries to picture her with reddish-brown hair. He can't.

"Didn't they used to be married?" Carol asks. "Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise? Your celebrity freebies were married to each other?"

"They got divorced though," Shannon says. Turning to Garland, she asks. "Is that a bad omen, baby? That our celebrity freebies got divorced? You'd never divorce _me_, would you?"

"If I did, you'd probably work your magic in court, and you'd get the cabin and everything in it down to the very last bullet in my revolver."

"You're right. I'd make it a lot of trouble for you. It's probably easier if you just keep tolerating me."

"Who's your celebrity freebie?" Carol asks Daryl.

"I ain't dumb enough to play this game."

"Oh, come on," Carol insists. "Play along."

"Fine," Daryl mutters. "Audrey Hepburn." He peers up to see Carol's reaction, and she appears to be mulling it over.

"Oh, Daryl's clever," Shannon says. "Because she's long dead. Baby, _you_ should have thought of picking a long dead woman when I asked you."

"They're _all_ long dead," Garland assures her.

"I like her," Carol says. "She has a very classical look. You have good taste."

"Damn right," Daryl tells her with a smile.

Gary settles down on the floor in front of Daryl and takes out Connect Four.

"Who's yours, Carol?" Shannon asks.

Carol sets aside her sharpening stone and resheaths her knife. "I don't know. I can't think of anyone."

"Nah. No. Nah-ah," Daryl insists. "You can't make me play and then not play."

Carol mulls it over. "You know that show _Lost_ that had just started to air before the world ended?"

"No," Daryl says even as Shannon says, "Yes."

"You had a crush on Jack?" Shannon asks. "I had such a crush on Jack."

"Not Jack," Carol replies. "Sawyer."

"Who the hell's Sawyer?" Daryl asks.

Shannon glances at Daryl and chuckles. "Oh yeah, I could see that. I could see Carol liking Sawyer."

"Hell kind of name is _Sawyer_?" Daryl grumbles.

"Well, the actor's name was John Holloway," Shannon says.

"Hell kind of name is _Josh_?"

"Sawyer _is_ hot," Shannon agrees. "Can I put another one on my freebie list, baby? I want Sawyer, too."

"You only get one."

"Damnit."

"You realize the actors are not the characters they play, darling?" Garland asks her. "And why do women always like the bad boys in fiction anyway?"

"Not the bad boys, baby. The bad boys with a secret heart of gold."

"Why don't they ever like the straight and narrow man who's polite and just does what's right from the start?" Garland asks.

"We like to think our love has changed a man."

"Why can't your love just make him happy?"

Shannon kisses his cheek. "Does my love make you happy, baby? Because you seem a little grumpy."

Carol chuckles.

Daryl puts his crossbow bolt aside on the end table and slides down to the floor to help Gary put together the Connect Four frame he's been struggling with. Daryl knows how to play this one. He used to play it with Hershel at the Hilltop.

"Me first!" Gary insists when the game is ready, and he drops a red checker into a hole. Daryl picks up a yellow checker and contemplates his options, but while he's doing so, Gary drops in another red checker on top of the first. And then he drops in another, and another. "I win!"

"Didn't even get a turn," Daryl grumbles.

"You snooze, you lose," Shannon tells him.

[*]

That night, while Carol gets ready for bed, Daryl sits on the edge of their mattress staring at the bottle of champagne sitting on their dresser, the one they found in the bed and breakfast that she's been saving all this time to toast their first-year anniversary.

"What are you thinking, Pookie?" she asks as she slides the dresser drawer shut.

"Thinkin' Dante likes booze almost as much as he likes smokes, 'n I still gotta lot of damn logs to saw."

"Oh."

"'S like gold. Good booze. Booze from the old world. Worth more'n tobacco even."

She puts a finger on the top of the bottle and looks it over. "Go ahead. Use it to buy more of Dante's labor. You've been working too hard."

"Nah. Know yer savin' it."

She sighs and turns to face him. "If you hadn't wanted me to _offer_, you wouldn't even have admitted you were thinking it."

He doesn't deny it. "Sorry," he mutters. "Bet Zeke made a real big deal of y'all's first year anniversary."

"He did. Wine and flowers and streamers and a serenade from the Kingdom's violinists and a poem he wrote me himself. But you're not Ezekiel. And I don't want you to be. I want you to be you. And I want you to _stop_ comparing yourself to him."

"Don't."

"You _do_," she insists. "Sometimes. I wish you wouldn't. I can't say I regret my time with Ezekiel. He was a good man and he treated me well. But he wasn't the right man for me, and our marriage may not have lasted if he had lived. _You're_ the man I always _should_ have married."

"Just…'fraid of dissapointin' ya sometimes."

"You don't. You just keep surprising me with how much you love me." She seizes the champagne from the dresser and extends it to him. "I don't need the damn champagne. I just need _you_."

Daryl stands from the bed, takes the bottle, and sets it back on the dresser so that the can put a hand on both her hips and look her in the eyes. "Gonna give ya that cabin for our anniversary. 'S gonna be a late gift. Couple months late. July. August maybe. But 'm gonna give it to you."

"I _know_ you will." She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him tenderly.


	6. At the Tavern

Sheriff Earl Carter runs his fingers over his handlebar mustache to smooth it. "I can't deputize you until you're a citizen in three weeks," he tells Carol, who stands in front of one of the empty jailhouse cells. "So you just get the silver patrol badge for now." He hands her a silver star pin. "Wear this whenever you're on patrol."

Carol pins it to the front pocket of her long-sleeve shirt.

"You'll get a gold one when you're a deputy. And when you're a deputy, Garland will take you off of fence-cleaning duty. It's a few more hours than other jobs, so you'll get extra ammo rations in payment. I recommend you never have fewer than ten rounds in your possession."

Carol's never dropping below twenty rounds. Jamestown has been invaded twice, after all, and experienced a mutiny. Fortunately, she still has a box of ammunition from scavenging.

"This morning you'll be patrolling the Indian Village. It should be fairly quiet. Most people will be at work, and the kids are in school. But some folks will have done their twenty already and just be hanging about. Just keep circling around the perimeter, go up and down between the huts, take notes if anyone stops you with a complaint."

"What kind of complaints?" Carol asks.

"I think my neighbor snatched a strawberry from my private garden. My neighbor is too loud during quiet hours. That sort of thing. Get the details, write it down, and submit it to me. I'll investigate it. If you see a crime in progress, stop it and detain the suspect and send for me or a deputy. We'll determine whether or not an arrest is necessary. But you'll have the power to do that yourself when you're formally deputized in three weeks."

"Do you make a lot of arrests?"

"Maybe three a week. Usually for drunk and disorderly, which typically means a night in the drunk tank to sleep it off, unless it's a repeat offense, and then the court might assess fines. Occasionally, you'll have to break up a fist fight between a couple of men. Again, that usually results in fines. And you might happen upon a domestic."

Carol tenses instinctively. "And how are those treated?" Ed's abuse of her was simply ignored in the quarry, until Shane snapped. In Alexandria, Pete got away with abusing Jesse until everything came to a bloody head.

"It depends on the circumstances, of course. If blame can be assigned, there's an arrest, a trial, and then a penalty assigned by the court."

"What do you mean," Carol asks, "_if_ blame can be assigned?"

"It’s not always clear who started it. Bob and Mary, for instance, are always fighting. They _both_ can get physical with each other. She won't leave, and neither will he. Neither ever wants to press charges against the other. So we treat it as a public disturbance more than anything else. She's bigger than he is, but he's a bit stronger. It's a pretty equal smackdown. Our farm manager keeps them on different farming shifts so they at least don't ever work together and don't have the same days off."

"Do they have children?" Carol asks with concern.

"No. Thank God," Earl replies. "And he had a vasectomy in the old world, so they won't be having them. Do you have a working watch?"

"No," Carol answers. "Not anymore."

"I'll get you one. It's a wind up. Be sure to record the time if you stop a disturbance or take down a complaint." He hands her a small notebook and a pencil.

[*]

Because Daryl's done with his twenty hours for the week, he takes yet another day to work on the cabin. With the help of Dante, he saws and seals more logs.

"What do you know about Sarah?" Dante asks when they take a water break. "She's one of your Kingdom people."

"Was a knight," Daryl mutters after a swig from his canteen. "Good archer. Longbow. Rides well. Good soldier. Why?"

"I'm thinking of asking her out to the Tavern for a drink. Or maybe for dinner at my hut, if I can get my roommates to take a hike one night. I mean I _do_ have champagne now."

"Not yet ya don't. Ain't getting' it 'till ya put in all of the hours ya promised me."

"I thought you'd be happy I took an interest in someone other than your wife."

Daryl narrows his eyes. "Thought ya said ya weren't comin' on to m'wife. That ya were just bein' _polite_."

Dante shrugs. "To be honest, I was testing the waters. They weren't receptive."

Daryl glowers at him.

Dante chuckles. "I know you want to deck me, but you can't, because one, I'm bigger than you, and you wouldn't win that fight, and, two, you want me to help you build this cabin."

"Trust me," Daryl growls. "'S just the second one."

"You think you're bigger than me?"

"Clearly I ain't. Just know I _would_ win that fight."

"Maybe. By cunning and stealth. The way you took out those mutineers." Dante smiles. "I'll try to stay on your good side."

"Try harder." Daryl tightens the top on his canteen, more tightly than he needs to. "'S get back to work."

"You ever seen Sarah with a black dude?" Dante asks as they walk over to the stand that holds the log they're currently sizing.

"No."

"Ever seen her with anyone?" Dante asks.

"Was married. He died fightin' the Saviors."

"Why would you fight saviors?"

Daryl picks up one end of the two-man buck saw and Dante takes the other end. "'S a gang. 'S what they called themselves. Long story."

"How long ago did her husband die?"

"Dunno…six years ago. Seven?" Time is getting fuzzy for him. "Get to work."

Together, they begin pushing and pulling the saw through the wood.

[*]

Patrol is more interesting than standing guard in the light house, but it's still fairly uneventful. The Indian Village is sparsely inhabited at the moment. Outside the old whorehut, she finds one of her Kingdom people working in the private garden the group has boxed in at some point over the past week.

"What are you planting?" she asks him.

"Tobacco plants. I bought the seeds from the storehouse with my ammo rations. I thought I could double or triple my return. Tobacco seems to be the best money here."

"That's a good idea." Garland and Shannon's private garden just has vegetables. Although if enough people grow their own tobacco, Carol supposes it will become less valuable in trade, and she'd rather have a private food source anyway. You can't eat tobacco if people stop taking it.

After they talk for a while, Carol patrols on. She passes a hut from which a man emerges, buckling his belt. He ducks his head and scurries on. A woman comes out the second time Carol passes by the same hut, and greets a _different_ man in a fisherman's cap, who is walking toward the hut from the direction of the old fort. "Hi, honey!" the woman calls. "I thought you were at work?"

"I got the schedule mixed up. I'm on tomorrow." He follows her into the hut.

Carol continues on without comment, but she feels a bit sorry for the fisherman.

On her third time around the perimeter, she's staying clear of the beehives when she gets stopped by the bee keeper, who leaves the insects behind to catch up with her. He raises the netting around his face. "Are you Carol Stuart?" he asks.

"Carol Dixon," she clarifies.

"I'm Timothy. It's such an honor to meet you." He pulls off his thick glove and extends his hand, and she shakes it. "You look a little different in the sketch."

"Hmm…well. Artistic license, I suppose." Carol patrols on.

She doesn't have to break up any disturbances, but she does have to take down one noise complaint. Someone's apparently been practicing his fiddle at midnight, and quiet hours begin at 10:30 p.m.

[*]

A chunk of wood falls to the ground. "Next one," Daryl says.

But Dante lets go of his end of the saw. "Look, I'm not quite done with my twenty for the week. I've got to go do some repairs on the gristmill. But I'll come back tomorrow and finish off the hours I promised you."

Daryl continues sawing on his own with a one-man crosscut saw, which is a lot harder to do. He's stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm when his hunting partner Mitch stops by and says, "I got that deer finally. You were right. It went through the creek."

"Good," Daryl murmurs. "Didn't take the day off?" If Daryl's done with his twenty, then so is Mitch.

"I sponsor an orphan. I put in an extra fifteen hours a week for her rations. And then I put in an extra ten on top of that to earn extra ammo." He looks at the saw that Daryl's rested in the log. "I guess there's no point in asking, since you _always_ say you have to work on the cabin, but…you want that lunch at the Tavern? On me?"

Mitch sounds wounded, and it hits Daryl suddenly that maybe he's been rude to keep saying no. He's never been good at the social niceties. And a free lunch wouldn't be bad at all. Then maybe Dante will take the deer jerky and peanuts rations he was _going_ to eat for lunch in exchange for just a little more work. "Hell, yeah, sure. Just need to finish this one cut 'n put away m'tools."

[*]

Carol's patrol path swings her by The Tavern around 11:50 AM, about ten minutes before she gets off duty, and she finds a farmer lingering outside the closed saloon shutters, waiting for the place to open for lunch. His straw hat is pushed down over his eyes, and his hands are shoved deep in the pockets of his overalls.

From the other direction, a blond man in a blue-and-gray navy working camo uniform strides purposefully toward the Tavern. He's holding a rolled-up scroll in his hand. Carol's been wanting to talk to a sailor about a water route to Oceanside, so she stops him and introduces herself as Carol Dixon.

"Captain David Cummings," he replies, with smiling hazel eyes, and extends his hand. "It's an honor to meet you. I was only a junior lieutenant before that mutiny. I didn't meet you the first time you were here."

"But you're a captain now?"

"Yes. I was fond of the old captain, despite his excesses, but I always loathed the lieutenant and the lieutenant commander. Commander Harrison had me fooled, though. I thought he was an upstanding man."

"He had everyone fooled," Carol assures him. She's not just found a sailor, she's found _the_ captain himself, who, according to Garland, is also on the town council. Maybe today is her lucky day. She nods to the rolled-up scroll in his hand. "Is that a navigation map by any chance?"

"It is." He taps it against the open palm of one hand. "I was going to have a working lunch at the Tavern and use it to look for a better fishing route. Why?"

[*]

The saloon shutters have been latched back. A buxom, blonde, curly-haired waitress in a tight, white, low-cut t-shirt greets Mitch and Daryl when they walk in through the wide-open doorway. The words _The Tavern_ are painted in red on her shirt where it pulls tightly across her breasts, not that Daryl's looking. The day's specials are written in a girly script of pink and white chalk on a free-standing black board near the entrance:

_Soup of the Day – Chicken & Rice_

_Jamestown Brew, by the pint_

_Moonshine, by the shot_

_Ask for today's prices_

_Live Music 7 PM – 10 PM_

_The Mason Brothers Band_

There's a slightly raised stage in the corner, with a piano and two stands that hold a fiddle and a guitar.

"Right this way, boys," the waitress says. "I'm Candy," she tells Daryl. "I don't think I've seen you in here before. Are you with that new group that came to Jamestown?"

"Mhm."

She leads them to one of several small card tables with folding metal chairs. Daryl sits down opposite Mitch. A large black cauldron of soup hangs above the flames of the nearby fireplace, sending its tempting scent drifting on curls of steam throughout the room. A rough wood bar in the shape of a U, with high wood stools, lines the opposite side of the tavern. The loft above the bar contains three rooms, divided by panels of plywood, with a curtain drawn across the front of each. That must be where Madam Linda and both waitresses live.

"Trisha's not working today?" Mitch asks.

"It's not busy enough at lunch for two waitresses," Candy says.

Madam Linda, plump and gray-haired, sits alone at the far end of the bar, making notes in a ledger. There are only three other customers - one man on the opposite end of the bar from Madam Linda, with a farmer's straw hat on the empty stool beside him, and a couple sitting at the center of the bar.

Daryl blinks. He knows half of that couple. He knows the woman. That woman is his _wife_.

The man sitting next to her wears a blue-and-gray camo navy working uniform, but he's taken off the cap to reveal a head of thick blond hair. He's sitting _awfully_ close and leaning in to talk to Carol. He's got a pint of beer in front of himself, and Carol's got a pint of beer to the right side of her, and they've just pushed two empty bowls to the front of the bar.

Did that asshole buy his wife lunch and a drink? Why are the men in this town always trying to buy _his wife_ drinks?

"'Scuse me a minute," Daryl tells Mitch. His chair scrapes back on the rough wood planks of the tavern floor as he stands.

Daryl walks over beside the Navy man and stares at him until he stops talking to Carol mid-sentence. The man turns and looks up at Daryl.

"This is my husband," Carol says. "Daryl, this is Captain David Cummings."

The captain holds his hand out. Daryl looks down at it with a scowl. Eventually the captain retracts his hand, unshaken. "Pleased to meet you," Captain Cummings says calmly. "I've heard all about your exploits in the mutiny of 7 NE. I suppose I owe my promotion to your culling of the traitorous herd."

Daryl grunts. Who the hell talks like that? _The culling of the traitorous herd._ Hell does this guy think he is? Winston Churchill? Daryl nods to Carol's pint of beer. "Havin' a drink?"

"David's treating me."

_David._ "Is he now?" Daryl asks.

She nods to the table where Mitch sits. "Looks like Mitch's treating you, too. You shouldn't leave him waiting. That would be rude."

There's a warning tone in her voice, and Daryl doesn't miss it. "Mhmhm." He looks over the captain one last time before returning to sit across from Mitch.

"What can I get y'all?" Candy says once Daryl's seated again.

"What's the soup cost today?" Mitch asks.

"A sixth of an ounce of tobacco, five rounds of ammo, or your best offer."

"I'll pay in ammo," Mitch says. "The beer and shine are still three rounds?"

"Yep," Candy replies.

"Then a bowl of soup for each of us, and – do you want moonshine or beer?" Mitch asks him.

"Beer," Daryl mutters.

"Beer for me, too." Mitch fishes into the inside of the front pocket of his green camo vest and sets down on the table a white plastic tray with 17 rounds of Remington .223. "Keep the change."

"All one round of it? Thanks, honey. Maybe if I wait on you two more times I can actually afford a drink." Candy plucks up the ammo and sashays away.

"Well now I feel like an ass," Mitch mutters. "It's not like they don't get a salary, too. They get basic rations like everyone else."

The waitress is back quickly with their pints of beer and clunks them down on the table without even looking at Mitch before walking off again. "It's not like ammo is cheap!" Mitch calls after her.

"I'll buy you a drink, sweetheart!" says the man at the end of the bar. He plucks his farmer's hat off the stool. Candy sashays over to him, smiling, and sits down beside him.

Madam Linda looks up from her ledger and says, "You have customers, Candy."

"I served them," she replies.

"Not the soup."

Candy sighs and slides off the stool before going behind the bar to draw out two wooden bowls.

Daryl sips his Jamestown brew and glances over at the center of the bar. Carol and _David_ are leaned almost head to head now. The captain's unrolled some kind of paper across the bar and is showing her something on it. Captain Cummings says something to her, and she laughs. Daryl instinctively grits his teeth.

Candy walks over and plops their bowls of soup down hard enough on their table that a little sloshes over the sides.

"Man at the bar," Daryl asks Mitch when the waitress leaves, "sittin' next to Carol. He married?"

"Captain Cummings? No. But I hear he's started seeing some woman from your Kingdom. I guess he has his pick of the new women. I mean, he's a captain. He's also on the town council, _and_ he's really good-looking. You like the soup?"

"'S good," Daryl grunts, even though he hasn't actually tasted it yet. He turns his attention from Captain Cummings back to his soup, grumbling, "Don't see 's good-looking about 'em."

"Well, I mean, if you like the blond Adonis type. And that Grecian nose. Not to mention those beautiful hazel eyes. He has good poise, too. He's a little _too_ polished in my opinion." Mitch smiles strangely at Daryl. "I like them a bit rougher."

Daryl slurps soup off his spoon. It really _is_ good, and he can't remember the last time he ate chicken. "Thought y'all just kept chickens for the eggs."

"We don't eat them until they stop laying so frequently. So consider this a real treat."

Mitch and Daryl finish eating their soup in silence. Two introverts sitting across the table from each other doesn't make for much conversation. It was fine in the woods, but it's a bit awkward in the tavern.

"Got a girl?" Daryl asks, just because he can't think of anything else to ask.

"_Me_?" Mitch lets out a laugh. "Oh, no. Certainly not _me_."

"Mhm."

"So you want to try tracking a black bear next week?" Mitch ventures after another minute of silence. "They might be out of their dens by then."

"Sure." Daryl fishes his last bite of chicken and rice in silence.

When Candy comes to try to clear his soup bowl away, Daryl mutters, "Hold on," tugs it back, picks it up, and noisily slurps down the last of the broth. She looks at him with a raised eyebrow that makes him think maybe other men don't do that with the broth. Captain Cummings glances back at him, too. Daryl puts the bowl down and pushes it over to the edge of the table. Candy stacks his and Mitch's empty bowls together and clears them.

Things fall silent again for a while as they sip their pints of beer.

"I took your advice," Mitch says at last. "Fixed a bayonet to my rifle."

"Good."

"I used it to kill a cannibal today, so I saved myself a bullet."

"Mhm."

The two men each take one small, silent sip of beer. Daryl glances at David and Carol at the bar again. She's running her fingertip along the paper, and he's turned his body so he's half facing her, with his knee almost at her hip.

"Oh, and the cannibal had a spare magazine in one of his pockets," Mitch adds to break the silence. "I don't know what happened to his gun, but the magazine had ten rounds of .22."

"Good find," Daryl grunts.

"Yeah. Especially since I promised my orphan I'd take her to the movies this afternoon. They're showing Monster's Inc. Five rounds of ammo gets you two tickets and a small popcorn."

"Mhmm." Daryl glances at the bar yet again. The captain has turned forward and is smiling as he lifts his pint.

"The cannibal looked like it had turned sometime in the last six months," Mitch says. "I wonder if it wasn't one of those attackers."

"Mhm. Maybe."

"He probably got shot in the battle against us, retreated, and died in the woods." When Daryl doesn't say anything else for a minute, Mitch says, "I…uh….better get going. I have to clean my guns before I take my orphan to the movies." Mitch drains the last sip of his beer and pushes back his chair.

"Thanks for the lunch, man," Daryl tells him.

"Sure. Maybe we can get a drink again some time?"

"Mhm." Daryl senses he's supposed to say he's buying next time, but he doesn't want to waste ammo or tobacco. He's suddenly reminded of how Merle used to encourage him to blow through all his money when he was trying his damn hardest to save enough for a deposit on a small apartment, so they wouldn't have to keep sleeping in the truck or in drugged-out girls' trailers. Merle would buy beer, and then Daryl was supposed to buy beer, and then Merle would buy, and then Daryl would buy…but Daryl didn't _want_ to buy. He wanted to _save_. "Maybe."

When Mitch is gone, Candy returns to clear his empty, abandoned pint glass and takes Daryl's, too. "Want anything else?" she asks.

"'Nother pint," he says, because even though it's a waste of ammo, he's _not_ leaving this tavern as long as Captain Cummings is talking to his wife, and it's going to look strange if he's sitting here with nothing to eat or drink.

"You have to pay first."

"Three rounds, right?" Daryl slides his handgun out of his holster and drops the magazine to start counting out ammunition.

As he's prying out a fourth round for a tip, Candy says, "Wait a minute. Are you _him_?"

"Him who?"

"Daryl Dixon? Oh my God! Are you Daryl Dixon?"

"Uh…"

Now Captain Cummings and Carol are both glancing back at him.

"Oh my God, wow!" Candy looks him up and down. "What happened to your hair? Didn't it used to be almost shoulder length?"

"Growin' it back."

"I expected a sexy _scar_, you know? I mean, you're still hot, just not what I expected."

"Give him a pint on the house, Candy," Madam Linda says. "Carol, too. It's an honor to have the heroes of the Mutiny of 7 NE in our midst. I'll pay for them out of my cut."

Since he's being treated, Daryl reloads two rounds into his magazine, but he leaves two on the table to make up for Mitch's apparently unsatisfactory tip. Candy scoops the bullets up. "Thanks, handsome." She gives him a little wink.

Daryl clicks the magazine back into his handgun, double checks the safety, and holsters it. Candy refills Carol's pint glass and then brings Daryl his. After that, the waitress plops herself down on the stool next to the farmer who offered to buy her a drink.

Daryl takes a small, slow sip. He's not sure how long he's going to have to nurse this pint.

The answer is, not very long. Three minutes later, Captain Cummings pushes his empty pint glass across the bar and slides off his bar stool. He says something to Carol, rolls up his map, and salutes her with it as he walks away from the bar. He pauses near Daryl's table and says, "It was a pleasure to meet you" before disappearing out the open tavern door.

Daryl seizes his pint glass and comes to sit next to Carol. "Hell was that all 'bout?"

"The hell was _what_ all about?" she asks.

"That cap'n buyin' ya lunch?"

Carol tilts her head at him. "I'm allowed to talk to other men, Daryl. I'm allowed to have lunch with one."

"Never said ya ain't _allowed_! Just don't like 'em _buyin'_ it for ya."

"But it was okay for Madam Linda to buy you a pint?"

"'S diff'rn."

"Why?" Carol asks

"'Cause she ain't tryin' to get in my pants!"

"How do you know I'm not?" Madam Linda asks from the other end of the bar, and Daryl flushes while Carol laughs.

Daryl lowers his voice. "A man don't buy a woman a drink less'n he _wants_ somethin' from her."

"The way Mitch wanted something from you?"

"What? 'S diff'rn. He ain't trying to get in my pants."

Carol chuckles. "He's not _seriously_ trying, because he knows you're straight and married, but he sure would _like_ to."

"Hell ya talkin' 'bout?"

"You _do_ know Mitch is gay, right? And that he's probably attracted to you?"

Daryl looks back at the table where he sat with Mitch. He blinks for a minute and then says, "Oh." Now all that detail about how good-looking Captain Cummings is and _liking them rougher_ makes a bit more sense. "Still diff'rn. That cap'n, he wants somethin' from ya."

"Well, you're wrong. _I_ wanted something from _him_."

Daryl blinks.

"I wanted to discuss something with him," she explains. "He was headed to lunch anyway, and he offered to treat me. So I let him, to give us a chance to talk."

"Hell ya wanna discuss with 'em?" asks Daryl, confused.

"Oceanside is situated on the Chesapeake Bay. Well, I was looking at the map in the museum the other day, and I realized the James River flows all the way to the Chesapeake Bay. The captain is a navigator, and on the council, so I wanted to discuss with him the possibility of a crew sailing there for the trade fair Dianne promised they'd have in November. I also thought, while I'm there, I'd talk to Cyndie and Michonne and Aaron about making Oceanside the hub of the Alexandria-Hilltop-Oceanside alliance, now that the Kingdom is gone. And then maybe a trade team from Jamestown could sail there not only for the annual trade fair in the fall every year, but maybe a second and third time in spring and summer. Three trading trips a year. The ship could store plenty of goods _and_ take an entire team."

"'S a good idea!"

"David thought so, too. He says these ships sail at four to five knots."

"Hell's a knot?" Daryl asks.

"About five miles per hour. But since, unlike a horse, a ship moves 24 hours a day, he thinks the _Susan Constant_ can sail all the way there in two or three days. This could be a good thing. This could unite our two worlds. I could see Henry three times a year! You could see Hershel and Judith, at least at the annual fair. Jamestown men could end up marrying Oceanside women. People could marry and move between the two communities. We could all be one people again!"

"'N the captain said he'll do it?"

She shakes her head. "It's not up to him. It's up to the Town Council. But they have open town hall meetings three times a week. Anyone can address the council, even non-citizens. So I'm going to the one tomorrow afternoon to propose it. David says I'll have his vote. I'm guessing I'll have Garland and Shannon's, too, so…that's three out of six already. It _could_ happen."

"'S a damn good idea!"

She smiles, pulls her pint glass to herself, sips, and then asks, "Still jealous?"

"Wasn't _jealous_."

"You were acting a little possessive there."

"Ain't like I punched 'em in the face." Eight years ago, he probably would have.

"I'd like to think you trust me," she says.

"'Course I trust ya. Wasn't _you_ I was worried 'bout."

"I hope you trust me to be able to deflect unwanted male attention entirely on my own," she clarifies. "I mean, I _am_ one of the heroes of the mutiny of 7 NE."

"Pfft."

She ducks her head to catch his eye. "Okay?"

"A'ight," he mutters.

"I suppose it's a _little_ bit flattering," she admits, "as long as you're not a total caveman about it." She smiles at him over her pint glass. "It's nice to know you think I've still got it."

"'Course ya still got it." He rakes his eyes over her. "_All_ of it."

She laughs. Daryl smiles and sips his beer.

Carol glances at the stage. "We should come back here tonight for the music."

"Don't wanna spend any more ammo."

"Come on," she says. "We'll come after we eat dinner. We won't buy the soup. We'll just have one beer each, plus tip…that's only eight rounds of ammo. I get twenty-seven a week now, and I only _have_ to shoot seven practice rounds. I'll treat. Take my man on a date."

Those eight rounds might buy him another hour of work from Dante, but he doesn't say so. "Dunno. Gonna be country music?" he mutters.

"They do Irish folk music," Madam Linda says.

"Ya got supersonic hearin' down there?" Daryl calls.

"It's one of my many gifts."

"Can you tolerate Irish folk, Pookie?" Carol asks. "For me?"

Daryl sighs. "A'ight. Take m'gril on a date."

"So _you're_ paying then?" Carol asks.

"'S all one pot anyhow, ain't it?"

"No. I have my own separate checking account."

Daryl shoots her a puzzled look.

"Ed controlled all the finances," Carol explains. "And he intentionally kept me in the dark about them. I never knew how much money we had, or what he was spending it on. I had to ask for money to buy groceries or clothes, or whatever. I know you're not Ed, and plenty of couples can have everything in joint and work as a team. But my money's never been _my_ money, and so I just like the idea of it. My ammo is my ammo. And my tobacco is my tobacco, too. But since you're using it to build _our_ cabin, I'll gladly keep giving it to you. So do you want _me_ to treat tonight? With _my_ ammo?"

"Nah. M' treat."

She smiles, kisses him on the cheek, and whispers, "Thank you."


	7. Party at the Tavern

The Tavern is packed when Carol and Daryl walk through the saloon doors, and the rafters shake with music and laughter and talk. The scent of chicken rice stew mingles with sweet tobacco, smoke, fruity beer, and pungent moonshine.

Carol and Daryl take up the only two empty stools on the far end of the U of the bar, Daryl with his shoulder crammed against the rough wood wall, but they still have a good view of the stage. Fiddle joins piano, guitar, and banjo in toe-tapping Irish jigs alternating with softer folk ballads.

"How come they call 'em the _Mason Brothers_ if they got a girl?" Daryl asks Madam Linda when she pours them their pints. The woman is tending bar while the waitresses, Candy and Trisha, serve the tables.

Madam Linda replies over the music, "The two men are the Mason brothers. She’s the pianist’s wife, so she’s a Mason, too. I guess they thought it sounded better than just The Masons.” She leaves them their pints and then disappears with two more to the other end of the bar.

"I like the music," Carol says.

"Ain't awful," Daryl concedes.

A few men offer to buy Carol drinks, but after she shoots the third one down, the rest stop asking. Even more men ask to shake Daryl's hand when word spreads that the hero of the mutiny of 7 NE is in their midst. Daryl shakes the first few with barely veiled pride, and the last few with barely veiled annoyance. When the train of admirers peters out, he sighs in relief and takes a big sip of Jamestown brew.

"What do you think the alcohol content of this is?" Carol asks him.

From the middle of the bar, where she's serving a customer, Madam Linda calls, "It's 12%."

"Jesus," Daryl mutters to Carol. "Don't whisper any secrets within a mile of 'er."

Carol chuckles.

There are three men for every woman in the tavern, and there's never a woman without a dancing partner. Several tables have been cleared from in front of the stage to make a dance floor.

Carol bumps Daryl's shoulder playfully and pleads, "Dance with me." He plants both feet on the bottom rung of his stool and shakes his head. "_Please_, Pookie?

"Nah. Really _can't_ dance." He does splurge with his ammo, though, and buys her a second pint, but he doesn't buy himself one, and Carol can see him tapping his fingers on his leg, counting how many rounds he still has left from his weekly rations.

"If you don't dance with me, you know," she warns him, "I'm going to have to dance with someone else."

"Fine," he mutters. "Dance with 'em all."

"You don't care? It won't make you jealous?"

"Ain't jealous. All these men can dance with ya all they want." He stabs his chest with his thumb. "'M the one's gonna take ya to bed tonight."

She smiles, leans in, and kisses his cheek. "Then I'm dancing with Dante."

"Wait. What. _He's_ here?"

She nods to a table where Dante sits with three other men.

"A'ight, anyone _but_ him."

"What about Captain Cummings?" Carol teases, nodding to where he stands talking to Sarah. The captain sets his pint glass down on a table, takes Sarah by the hand, and tugs her to the floor.

"Looks like he's got a dance partner already," Daryl says. "Dante ain't gonna be happy 'bout it, though. He was gonna ask her out."

Deputy Andrew, who has recently entered the tavern, spies them and comes over to say hello and re-introduce himself. "I remember you," Carol assures him. "You're the deputy who helped clean Harold off the cabin floor."

"That was _quite_ a night," Andrew says. "Sheriff Earl says you're joining the force?"

"I should be deputized in three weeks," Carol confirms.

"Well, we're lucky to have you." Andrew looks from Daryl back to her. "Listen, if you're not going to be dancing with your husband, would you mind if I took you for a spin on the dance floor?" He holds his hands up at his shoulders, palms out, and assures Daryl, "I promise I won't get handsy."

Carol turns to Daryl with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, fully expecting him to recant his blanket permission when faced with the sketch artist who overestimated her chest size, but he just shrugs.

"Go on. Have yer fun." He leans in and whispers in her ear. "He ain't never gonna know how perfect they _really_ are."

Carol chuckles as she slides off the stool and follows Andrew to the floor. After she dances with him, she's asked to dance by Thomas, the field medic, and then with a fisherman named Marcus, a forty-something, raven-haired man who isn't unattractive but still smells faintly of fish. She does learn Marcus is on the council, however, and so tries to make a good impression, since she'll be presenting her case for establishing a trade route to Oceanside at the town hall tomorrow. She slips into the conversation, which happens between swings, that Oceanside's population is eighty percent female. She figures that knowledge is the surest way of securing a crew big enough to sail a ship.

"Is anyone else here on the council?" Carol asks as they swing in again. She's thinking if there's another single man, she'll be sure to let him dance with her. But when they swing back, Marcus tells her. "Carolyn's here. Captain Cummings. And Dr. Ahmad."

Carol doesn't think she'll invite the female veterinarian to dance. Captain Cummings seems to be in high demand, and Dr. Ahmad appears to have brought his wife.

When the song finishes up, Marcus thanks her. Dante asks her to dance next, but Carol tells him she's tired out from her last three and goes to rejoin Daryl at the bar, only to find some other woman has taken _her_ stool and is talking to _her_ husband. The dark-eyed, brown-skinned beauty has black hair down to her hips.

"Are you going to introduce me?" she asks Daryl pointedly, but it's the woman who introduces herself, as Inola.

"Sorry for taking your seat," Inola says, and hops down from the stool, takes her pint glass from the bar, and raises it to Daryl. "Thanks for the drink."

Inola disappears quickly, leaving Carol with a dumfounded look on her face as she sits down next to Daryl. "Are you kidding me?" she asks. "After that scene this afternoon, you went and bought a woman a pint of - "

"- Didn't buy it!" Daryl insists. "Mean, I _did_, but it was payment."

"Payment for _what_?" Carol's glad for a sudden rise in the music, because she didn't mean to shout it.

"That pint got me a promise of one hour's work. Be awhile for I need 'er though."

"Need her for _what_?"

"Told ya I was gonna try to get the mason to help me with the chimney and foundation when m' done with the logs."

"_She's_ the mason?"

"Pffft. Expected the mason to be a man, didn't ya?"

"Well, I didn't expect the mason to be quite so…" Carol glances back at Inola, who is now handing that pint Daryl bought her over to a man who has the same skin tone and hair color as her. Two other men also sit at the table. They lean in attentively when the woman starts talking. "_Inola_, huh?"

"'S a Cherokee name. Means black fox."

"Of course it does." Carol turns back from looking at Inola's table. "Is one of those men her husband?"

"'S it matter?"

"Just curious."

"Dunno. Said she wanted the pint for 'er brother. Dunno who the other two are."

The music switches from jigs to a soft and haunting love ballad. The dance floor thins down. Captain Cummings, who's danced with Sarah twice now, steps aside when Dante asks to take her to the floor, but the captain is immediately snatched up by the veterinarian Carolyn. Dr. Ahmad dances with his wife. Andrew manages to talk the waitresses Trisha onto the floor, at least until Madam Linda tells her, sixty seconds later, to get back to work.

Carol notices Daryl watching the singer closely. "She's pretty, huh?" Carol teases. The woman _is_ pretty, though quite young, probably not more than twenty-five. Daryl's been looking at her for longer than he _usually_ looks at people.

"Just reminds me of someone."

Carol follows his gaze and listens to the hauntingly beautiful Irish ballad. "Beth," she says quietly.

"Yeah," he murmurs.

The prison seems like another world now, a time when they all faintly fantasized of the settled life they've only _now_ begun to realize. "I think you need a second drink, too," Carol tells him. "_My_ treat."

"A'ight."

Carol raises a finger and Madam Linda comes and grabs Daryl's pint glass for a refill. "Let me try the shine," Daryl tells her, and she comes back with a whiskey glass with one ounce of clear liquid instead.

"_Try_ it?" Carol asks. "You had it last time you were here."

"Garland says it's better now." He takes a small sip and rolls it on his tongue.

"Is it?" she asks.

"Bit, yeah, but just as damn strong. Try it." He tips his glass to her.

With an elbow on the bar and her head on her hand, Carol bats her eyelashes at him, "Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. Dixon? So you can get in my pants?"

He smirks. "Think I can get 'em off ya sober."

She swipes the whiskey glass from his hand, takes a little sip, and hisses. "God that's even stronger than I remember it being."

Daryl laughs.

They take turns taking tiny sips of the shine from the glass, and Carol hisses a little less each time. Since she's already had two pints of strong beer, she can feel it going to her head after the second sip, and the music is starting to sound even _better_.

Dr. Ahmad comes over and offers to buy them _both_ a pint of beer. Daryl says yes, probably because he's being included in the offer and the man is with his wife. So Dr. Ahmad buys pints for all four of them, using tobacco instead of ammo, and the bar grows suddenly less loud while the band takes a break, until the hum of conversation fills the room.

Dr. Ahmad introduces his wife, Tamara, a petite woman of Palestinian origin, with thick eyelashes that make Carol jealous. "How long have you been married?" Carol asks them.

"Seventeen years next week," Tamara tells her.

"Oh!" Carol exclaims in surprise. "A marriage from _before_ the collapse?"

"Our marriage has been through worse," Tamara quips, and Dr. Ahmad rolls his eyes. "But I think my husband developed quite a crush on you when you were in that infirmary."

Carol's not sure how to respond to that. Dr. Ahmad _was_ flirting with her, and Carol _was_ using that to her advantage. But Tamara only appears to be teasing, as though maybe she doesn't mind her husband flirting with other women, as long as he doesn't take it any further than that.

"Shush, Tammy," Dr. Ahmad hisses, and Tamara chuckles. The doctor changes the subject. "Tamara used to be a nuclear physicist in the old world, but here she mostly works as an engineer."

"I help maintain the power and water to the museum. I had to teach myself a few things."

"But ya ain't on the council?" Daryl asks.

"No, but who knows." Tamara puts a hand on Dr. Ahmad's shoulder. "I might run against my own husband in July."

"Well then I'm going down," Dr. Ahmad quips.

"We could _both_ win."

"I don't think the people take too kindly to relatives being on the council."

"Shannon and Garland are both on the council," Carol says.

"Yes, and there's been some grumbling about that," Dr. Ahmad notes. "It's probably why Shannon isn't running again in July. She'd lose."

"That's _not_ why," Tamara insists. "She just wants more time for the baby. And she's had a lot of great ideas, hasn't she?"

Between Dr. Ahmad and Carol, the conversation shifts to medical topics. Carol's training under Hershel comes up. "You really practiced on _cannibals_?" Dr. Ahmad asks.

"I never actually had to perform that C-section. I've still never done one."

"Well, let's hope you never have to," Tamara says. "No offense, I don't mean – "

"- I know what you mean," Carol assures her. "Jamestown is lucky to have the professional medical staff it does. Your husband saved my life."

When the band strikes up again, Dr. Ahmad and his wife excuse themselves to go dance.

Daryl and Carol sit side by side and listen to the music as they finish up the pints Dr. Ahmad bought them. Another man asks Carol to dance, but she replies, "I'm on my third pint." Not to mention the moonshine she shared with Daryl. "I don't think I have much rhythm at the moment."

But as soon as those pints are drained, they get instantly refilled. "Courtesy of Lieutenant James Witherspoon," Madam Linda tells them.

"Who?" Daryl grunts.

Madam Linda half turns from the bar to point at an auburn-haired man on the other side who can't be more than twenty-five. He raises his own pint to them. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Dixon!" the lieutenant calls across the bar. "For killing those bastards and ensuring my promotion."

Daryl raises his pint in salute and then sips.

"I guess it's okay for men to buy me drinks if they're also buying you drinks?" Carol asks as she draws her pint closer.

"Kid's buyin' _Mr. and Mrs. Dixon_ drinks," Daryl replies with a sloppy grin.

They sip and talk and laugh, and the taverngoers grow more boisterous. The voices rise almost louder than the music, and some of the married couples leave. Daryl, apparently no longer caring about hoarding his rations now that he's three pints and half a shot in, orders himself another shot of moonshine, but Carol is still nursing the beer the lieutenant bought her. A fist fight breaks out between two men at the other end of the bar and has to be broken up by the Deputy Andrew, who then leaves with the two men, to the mixed cheers and boos of the rest of the tavern goers.

"Glad I'm not on patrol," Carol says.

Daryl shoots the last of his moonshine, takes Carol's hand, and tugs her down from the stool. "C'mon. 'S get out of here 'fore it gets crazy."

Carol's eyes are twinkling when they get out into the fresh air of the Indian Village. With her fingers laced through his as they walk, she rests her head on his shoulder and hums.

"Think yer drunk," he says.

"You are, too."

"Nah. 'M sober as the grave." He stumbles forward, steadies himself, and walks on as she giggles. "Just tripped on a tree root," he insists.

They weave their way through the Indian Village as the sounds of the tavern die behind them. They pass a patrolman in the settlement and make their way back to the cabin. Carol trips on the new wood floor which is a bit uneven at the dirt entry way when she walks in, stumbles forward two steps before steadying herself, and laughs. She spies Gary on the deerskin rug, in the light of the gated-off, dwindling fire, lying stomach down with his arm slung around Dog. A blanket has been draped over him, and his back rises and falls with his breathing.

"Shhh!" she half yells.

"You shhh!" Daryl tells her.

She points to the sleeping boy and puts a finger to her lips.

"Hell's he doing out here?" Daryl asks.

Carol giggles and points to Shannon and Garland's closed bedroom door. As if on cue, Shannon's long, satisfied, "Ohhhhhhhhh!" drifts out.

"Think he's finally gettin' some?" Daryl whispers with a grin. At least he probably _thinks_ he's whispering.

"Either that or she's filming a shampoo commercial," Carol says, and they both snort and tip toe toward the bedroom, where Daryl kisses her sloppily as he kicks the door shut behind himself.

The rooms goes black, because the shutters are closed and they haven't lit an oil lamp. They stumble in the darkness, clawing at each other, and tumble to the twin beds together, laughing. Daryl tugs at her belt, and she tugs at his, and it's a while before they manage to get their clothes off. When they finally do, Daryl flips Carol onto her stomach in the bed and nips at her neck and shoulders and squeezes her ass as she squirms against the mattress.

"Are you going to take advantage of me?" she teases.

"Mhmhm," he murmurs, settling his chin sleepily on her shoulder as he continues to caresses her bare ass with his hand. "But ya got to cooperate."

She yawns. "Cooperate? With being taken advantage of?"

"Mhmmhm," he murmurs, again. "Gotta get up on yer hand n' knees."

"Why?"

"So I can fuck ya from behind. Good n' hard. Doggie style."

"Okay," she agrees, but she doesn't move. She doesn't seem to have the energy to move. "Don't you have to get up, too?" she murmurs. "Behind me? Isn't that how that works?"

"Ya don't know how it works?"

"I've never done it doggie style."

"Mhmmhm."

She closes her eyes and feels like she's sinking into the mattress. "Have you?"

"Not witchya."

"I _know_ not with me. I mean with someone else obviously."

"Ain't no one else," he mutters and yawns. "Ain't no one else in the whole damn solar system."

"What about in the universe?"

"Mmhm. Nah. Ain't no one but m'Carol."

"No?" she asks and yawns.

"Naaaaah," he yawns.

"Naaaah," she agrees, and that's the last thing she remembers, before she wakes up chilly and naked in the middle of the night and pokes Daryl awake just long enough for both to crawl under the blanket.

[*]

Why are the birds singing so loudly? Carol rubs her forehead and groans. She rolls on her side to find Daryl is not beside her. He's dressed and putting his gear on his belt. "You're up _already_?"

"'S eight. Gotta go hunt." He clicks on one of his sheathes. "You?"

"I just have a couple hours of fence cleaning, and I don't have to be there until ten."

"Be fine by then," he assures her as he clips another knife to his belt. "Just hydrate."

"I also have to go to that town hall later in the afternoon and make my case for establishing that trade route to Oceanside."

"Y'll make a great case." He clips his empty holster to the other side of his belt.

"And I think we're supposed to pick up our weekly rations between one and three."

"Be back by two." He picks up his handgun from the dresser and slides it into the holster. "I'll do it."

"Did we have sex last night?" she asks.

"Best damn sex of yer life," he tells her as he swings his crossbow on his back. "Too bad you don't 'member."

"Really?"

He snorts. "Dunno," he admits. "Think we maybe started somethin' 'n didn't finish."

"Why aren't _you_ hungover? You had as much to drink as I did."

"'M bigger 'n you. 'N I got a high tolerance."

"Is that why you put up with me?"

He chuckles, comes over, and bends down to kiss her. "Love ya, Mrs. Dixon," he whispers before leaving the room.


	8. Carol's Proposal to the Council

When Daryl emerges, Garland is making tea and _whistling_. Maybe Daryl didn't get laid last night, but _someone_ definitely did. Shannon is probably still in bed, and little Gary is sitting on the couch and struggling to zip up his tiny backpack for preschool.

"Want some tea, Daryl?" Garland asks. "I was just about to make some."

"Y'all ever drink coffee?"

"We get one cup of coffee beans a month per adult. They should be in this week's rations. But Shannon and I always trade ours. They fetch a higher price than tea."

"Yeah?" Well that's one more thing he can use to buy labor. _His_ coffee beans, of course. Not Carol's. Separate accounts. 

Garland takes the whistling kettle off the wood stove. "Tea?"

"Nah. Thanks. Gotta get goin'." Daryl takes one step toward the door and pauses. "Hey, where'd ya get that wood stove?" He knows most of the huts and cabins were part of the historic recreation, but that stove looks much too modern.

"A Home Depot sixteen miles west.” 

"Anythin' left?"

"There's probably still two or three wood stoves. A few outdoor firepits. No lumber. We used that all on the gristmill and tavern. No nails or screws or solar panels or anything like that. There's some paint. Some tools. Patio furniture."

"Check it out on m' next day off," Daryl says. "Take our wagon."

"Well, it's not _your_ wagon anymore," Garland says. "You paid that as an admission fee. It belongs to the community now. So make sure you schedule its use. And if you're taking it for _private_ scavenging, there's a rental fee.” 

"Ya fuckin' serious?" Daryl grumbles.

"Charging a fee lets us ration its use."

"Ya ever feel like this place is just a little too legalistic?"

"I feel like this place is standing." Garland pours hot water from the kettle into his cup. "And I feel like it's stood for eight years."

"Sorry. Wasn't tryin' to sound insultin'. Y'all done great work here. Just…" He sighs. "Tryin' to get that cabin built 'n I need ammo to buy help."

"Well, you don't need it to buy _my_ help. I'm off tomorrow. As much as I'm _ever_ off. I can spare you two hours, anyway."

"Thanks, man. Thanks…hell, thanks for everythin'."

Garland laughs. "Says the man who saved my life. Twice."

"Twice?" Daryl asks.

"Daniel told me you gave him food and let him go even though he tried to steal your horse. If you hadn't…I'd most likely have been killed by those raiders."

"'M glad that worked out. Ain't always worked out, lettin' people go." Of course, Dwight is a complicated matter. Dwight killed Denise, but then he helped them defeat the Saviors later. If Daryl _had_ killed Dwight…who knows how that all would have turned out in the end. He wonders what happened to the man, if he ever found his wife, if he's still alive somewhere.

[*]

Daryl stoops down to examine the earth. "Definitely bear." He stands and looks about the forest. "If we get it," he tells Mitch, "we get to keep the hide, right?"

"Yeah. The community just gets the meat."

"Wanna turn it into a bearskin rug for when I get m'cabin built. Put it in front of the fireplace. Make love to m'wife on it." He hopes that's a big enough hint that he doesn't swing that way, and, even if he did, he wouldn't cheat on Carol. "I'll pay ya for yer share."

"You can just have it. We already have a $20,000 oriental rug in front of the fire circle in our hut."

"We?" Daryl asks.

"Me and my roommate."

"Mhm." Daryl brushes some forest debris aside with his boot to reveal a track.

"He's _just_ my roommate," Mitch clarifies. "He's straight."

"So 'm I."

"Yeah. Figured that out. And you're _very_ married. I'm just…" Mitch sighs. "Looking for a friend. I don't make them easy."

"Yeah. Me neither." Daryl whistles for Dog, who has gotten distracted by a bug. The canine yaps and sniffs down the trail of the bear.

They walk the trail quietly, until Mitch says. "You've probably never had a gay friend before though, huh?"

"Pffft. Got three back home." _Back home_. He's going to have to stop saying that. The Alliance isn't home anymore.

"Really?"

"Tara. Jesus. Aaron. Aaron's like a brother to me." And he’ll see Aaron again, in November, even if Carol doesn’t get that sailing trip approved. They’ll ride on horseback to the trade fair if they have to. 

[*]

Carol rips her knife out from the walker's forehead. The creatures slumps like a dropped marionette. Dante helps her ease it off the pike, and they drag the body into the woods. When he returns to test the pike, it splinters. "Good thing I brought two spares." He picks up one from the ground and replaces the pike, after tossing the splintered halves in the woods.

While he's doing that, Carol stands guard and takes a few swigs from her canteen because her headache still lingers.

Dante picks up the second spare pike, and they walk on. "I hear you're only helping me out for three more weeks? Then you're being deputized?"

"You hear correctly."

Dante shakes his head. "Then I'm probably going to have to deal with Arnie again." They walk silently for a few yards, and he says, "I'm a little insulted you danced with everyone in the tavern last night except _me_."

"I danced with _three_ men. I think there were bout thirty-six there last night." 

"Did Daryl tell you that you couldn't dance with me?"

"Daryl doesn't _tell_ me anything," Carol insists. "I make my own decisions. But I respect my husband, and I take his feelings into account."

"And he doesn't _feel_ like he wants you to dance with me?" Dante asks.

"Can you blame him? You told him you were testing the waters with me."

"Damn. Do you two tell each other _everything_?"

"Everything that needs to be told, anyway."

Dante laughs and shakes his head. "He hardly ever talks when we're working. He must be completely different with you, huh?"

"No. Just more relaxed." Less on guard, Carol thinks, more _himself. _"But I know how to be quiet, too."

"Unlike me?" Dante asks with a grin. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say it." Carol smiles. "You said it."

"All right, all right. I'll be quiet for the next mile." Dante makes it about _one-eighth_ a mile. "Tell Daryl that Sarah's coming to dinner at my place tonight, if that makes him feel better."

"She said yes?" Carol draws her knife because she can see a walker in the distance, writhing on a pike and trying to push forward through it to the fence.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"I got the impression she was interested in Captain Cummings." Sarah danced with Dante at the tavern last night, but only once. She also danced once with the deputy Andrew and once with the fisherman-councilman Marcus. But she danced with the captain _three_ times.

"She’s had dinner with him in his cabin on the ship," Dante replies. "But she's had dinner with Deputy Andrew once, too. And lunch with Marcus. And dinner with Deputy Santiago. I guess she wants to research her options." He shrugs. "Or get a free meal every night and hoard all her rations."

Carol strides forward and slays the caught-up walker. Dante drops his pike and they peel it off together and drag the body away. He tests the bloodied pike, but it holds, so he picks up his spare and walks on. "What do you think my chances are with her? What kinds of men does Sarah like?"

"I wouldn't know." Carol wipes the blood from her knife with a cloth, which she tucks in her back pocket before sheathing her knife.

"Well, what was her husband like? The one Daryl said died fighting saviors?"

"I didn't know him."

"Weren't you _queen_ of that place?"

The trees rustle, and Carol's knife rasps from its sheath. It's only a squirrel, and she relaxes but decides she might as well keep the knife in hand. "Not back then. I didn't know everyone."

"Does she like harmonica? I play a mean harmonica."

Carol laughs. "Does anyone really _like_ harmonica? I mean, by itself?"

Dante shrugs. "I guess it's not the best instrument for serenading a woman."

"Just be yourself," Carol assures him. "You're a friendly, funny guy. She'll have fun if nothing else."

"Well, I'm pretty sure there's going to be nothing else, at least for the first date. Santiago’s already out of the running, or so I hear, because he tried for sex right away." He taps his head. "I'll learn from that bit of information."

Carol slays another walker. "There's more today. Must be because of all the noise in the tavern last night."

The pike is fractured, and Dante replaces it. His hands are now free, and they walk on. "She's going to end up with Captain Cummings," he says with a sigh. "In the end. If he really wants her, which he probably does."

"You don't know that."

"Why wouldn't he? She gorgeous. Smart. And, from what I hear, competent. I know Garland's impressed by her _insight into security_. That's what he called it."

"I mean you don't know that she'll choose the captain," Carol clarifies.

"Of course she will. He's handsome, rich, and powerful."

"Rich?"

"He went out scavenging one day – privately – not on the clock – and found one of those green ammo cases, you know, the metal ones? It must have had two hundred and fifty rounds of 5.56 NATO. He could buy her and himself a bowl of soup and pint of beer at the tavern every night for the next two weeks and _still_ not have to dip into his rations. I'm not going to win."

"Well, certainly not with _that_ attitude," Carol teases.

"So give me some pointers."

Carol laughs. "What do I know about dating women?"

"You _are_ a woman. How did Daryl first earn your affection?"

Carol rests her hand on the hilt of her knife, which she's sheathed again, and winces. "He spent countless hours searching for my lost daughter and nearly got himself killed doing it. And then when we found her…" She grits her teeth. "…_changed_, he was the one to hold me while I broke. And then he was the one to help me put back together all the shattered pieces."

"Oh. Damn." Dante actually stays quiet for a quarter of a mile this time. Then he asks. "So you lost her one or two years ago? Your daughter?"

"Closer to eight."

"I'm confused. Didn't your husband, the king, die two years ago?"

"About," replies Carol, scanning the tree line.

"But, you weren't married to the king eight years ago, were you?"

"No."

"Were you married to _anyone_?" Dante asks.

"I was married to my first husband when I met Daryl. But Ed died before I lost my daughter."

"Was _Daryl_ married?"

Carol laughs. "God no."

"So…Daryl earned your affection almost eight years ago, when you weren't married to _anyone_. And _he_ wasn't married to anyone. But you didn't get with him until seven years later. And somewhere in there, you married the king, and he died?"

"That about sums it up."

"Well that doesn't make any damn sense at all."

"No," Carol agrees. "No, it doesn't."

[*]

Mitch and Daryl come across some wild turkey tracks, and Mitch wants to veer off the bear tracks for them. "Don't have time to track both," Daryl says. "Told Carol I'd pick up our rations at two."

"We'll pick up the bear tracks tomorrow. We know where to start now. The turkeys are closer. I can hear them."

Daryl sighs. He knows Mitch is right. They have to come back to Jamestown with something, and they've already been out for hours. "Fine. But them turkeys are skittish bastards. Be quiet."

Mitch smirks and does an Elmer Fudd imitation, holding his rifle and crouching as he moves forward. "Vewy, vewy, quiet."

Daryl chuffs. "Cut it out."

They come across a whole rafter of turkeys scavenging near the edge of the woods, and they manage to kill two. The rest scatter and vanish and Daryl loses an arrow high up in a tree trying to get a third. Dog retrieves the birds by their necks one by one and drags them to Daryl's feet.

The hunters are gloating in their victory and preparing the birds to carry when a walker lunges from amidst the trees and seizes Mitch by the arm. It bends to sink its teeth into his neck.

Dog distracts the walker with his frantic barking, and when it turns its face, Daryl takes it out with a bolt to the head.

Mitch, still reeling from the shock, catches his breath. "Sweet Jesus," he murmurs. "I thought I was a goner. Good aim there, William Tell."

Daryl rips his bolt out of the walker's head. Its clothes are torn up in places, and loose, but not in shreds. The pants remain on, though low at the hips. "Looks fresh. Seven, eight months at most."

"Probably another one of those raiders," Mitch tells him. "We found all but three of the bodies. Let's search its pockets. It might have some ammo on it."

The creature does, in a handgun in a holster at the small of its back, inside the pants. There's ten rounds in the magazine, and they each take five. In the front pocket of the creature's cargo pants, there's a spare magazine with another twelve rounds. They split those too.

Daryl hands him the gun. "Ya can have it, since 'm takin that hide when we get that bear."

Mitch looks the gun over. He checks the chamber and racks the slide, which he struggles to pull back. "Needs a serious cleaning, but I'll see what I can do."

Pockets full of ammo, and turkeys over their shoulders, the hunters make their happy way home.

[*]

A sawed-off chunk of wood clunks to the dirt. Dante and Daryl drop the two-man buck saw and swipe their sweaty brows. "As soon as I'm done with this last hour," Dante says. "You're giving me that champagne. I've got a hot date tonight."

"Two more hours for a cup of coffee beans?" Daryl picked up next week's rations after getting back from the hunt, and he's got his cup of beans for the month. Two, if Carol lets him spend hers.

Dante shakes his head.

"One 'n a half hours?" Daryl attempts.

"I don't drink coffee."

"Damn," Daryl mutters.

"But you know who does? Inola. Loves the stuff. So you can probably get some more masonry work out of her."

"Thanks for the tip." Daryl takes hold of one end of the freshly-sized logs. "She married?"

Dante chuckles as he picks up the other end of the log. "Don't let Carol hear you asking that."

"Carol's the one wanted to know."

Together, they heft the log off the stand. "She was," Dante says as they drop it into the growing pile. "But he died when that flu swept through. Asthma. It made him vulnerable. And now she has a line of suitors out the door."

They put another unsized section of tree on the stand. "And you ain't in that line?" Daryl asks.

"Her husband was my best friend in the world. So no."

The metal tape measure clangs as Dante rolls it out to mark the spot where they need to saw off the log.

"Ya won't come on to a dead man's wife, but y'll come onto a livin' man's?" Daryl asks pointedly.

"Well, you aren't my best friend." Dante flicks his wrist and the tape measure whirs back and snaps shut. He clips it to his belt. "And at the rate you're going, you're not likely to earn the title anytime soon."

"Trust me. Ain't lookin' to earn the title."

Dante grins and picks up his end of the bucksaw. "We'll see. I have a way of growing on people."

[*]

When Carol enters the council chambers for the open town hall at four that afternoon, in the museum where her sketch hangs on the wall, there are three rows of thirty folding chairs set up, and the council table has been placed horizontally so that all of the council members can sit on one side of it facing the audience. She takes a seat along with about twenty other people.

Garland sits at the center of the council table. To his left are Shannon, Captain David Cummings, Dr. Ahmad, and Carolyn, the veterinarian. To his right sit Marcus, the fisherman who danced with Carol at the tavern; Ana Carter, the judge and Sheriff Earl’s wife; Ernesto Martinez, the current farm manager, who was promoted from his assistant’s position when the old farm manager was murdered in the mutiny, and Barry, a duck hunter. 

"Town Hall, April 2, 8 NE," Garland announces, "has adjourned." At the end of the table, Carolyn, who must have been appointed the council's secretary, takes minutes on a yellow legal pad. "Please raise your hand if you have any concerns to bring to this council."

Carol's hand shoots up, but so do nineteen others. Apparently no one comes to an open town hall unless they have an issue to raise.

Garland calls on a man from the Kingdom, Samuel, who has always been a minor annoyance to Carol. He didn't volunteer for the trek to Jamestown but was chosen in the lottery. Samuel asks for a job reassignment.

"We reassigned you three days ago," Garland says. "You're not satisfied with this job either?"

"I'd like to do something less physically demanding."

"Well, those jobs are generally reserved for pregnant women, the elderly, and people with injuries," Garland tells him with barely veiled disdain.

"Motion to deny this application," Captain David Cummings says.

Dr. Ahmad raises a finger. "Motion seconded."

"All in favor?" Garland asks.

All nine hands on the council go up.

"Your application is denied," Garland tells him, and the Kingdom man mutters something under his breath and leaves the council chambers.

Daniel stands up next and suggests it may be time to unman the watchtower a mile beyond the gates, since they haven't seen anyone from there in months.

"You saw Daryl and Carol's group," Carolyn. "Just a week ago."

"Well, yeah…but…we'd have seen them if they came all the way to the gates, too. It just seems like a waste of manpower."

"So you want to go back to cleaning fish?" Marcus asks.

"No! I want to be on patrol. In the village."

"You had a little trouble focusing on your patrol duties last time we assigned you there," Garland notes. "You kept popping into the tavern to chat with the waitresses."

The council motions to deny his application, and the denial is unanimously approved. Daniel grumbles and leaves.

The beekeeper rises next to suggest they use some of the honey to make mead. "It takes 3.5 pounds per gallon. We're producing about three hundred and forty pounds of honey a year now. If we make twenty gallons of mead a year, that still leaves us with over 300 pounds of honey."

"Which is only eight ounces per person per year," Shannon says.

"I…" The beekeeper appears to be trying to do the math in his mind. "Maybe.” 

"Honey will soon be our primary sweetener," Shannon says. "We're running low on our sugar stores. We don't grow sugar cane. We don't have enough honey _as is_."

"We already have brew and moonshine," Captain Cummings agrees. "And with the market rationing system, through the tavern, there have been no shortages of those. I don't think we need to waste more resources on alcohol."

"I motion to deny the proposal," Ana says.

"Motion seconded," Dr. Ahmad agrees.

"All in favor of denying this motion?" Garland asks.

All nine hands go up.

"Motion denied."

The beekeeper sighs and leaves.

Given this string of denials, Carol's starting to feel nervous about her own proposal. A Kingdom man, Juan, is called on next, and he requests permission to expand the former whorehut. "Do you have a sketch of your plans?" Captain Cummings asks.

"Yes, sir. Captain." He walks up to the table and hands them over. The council passes them from person to person. Heads are bent as they confer, while Juan retreats a few steps.

"You don't need our approval for this," Garland says when the whispering is complete. "These plans for extension don't encroach on any private boundaries or any potential farmlands."

"My neighbors said I had to get approval," Juan replies.

"Well, they were mistaken." Garland rolls up the plans and extends them back. "Go ahead and start building. Just don't cross the lines you've drawn in these plans. Any complaints from the neighbors, direct them to me."

"Thank you." Juan takes back his plans and leaves.

Garland calls on Carol next, and she makes her case for establishing a trade route to Oceanside. "Jamestown could send a team in June to make the initial contact with Oceanside. Daryl and I would accompany them, of course, to make introductions. Then we could go again in November for the annual trade fair, when representatives of the Hilltop and Alexandria will also be there. And then maybe we could go again in April of next year. We could establish a regular trade route, two to three trips per year."

The farm manager, Ernesto, is skeptical that Oceanside or the other two camps could possibly have anything to offer them they don't already have.

"The Hilltop grows grapes and makes wine," Carol tells them, knowing how popular alcohol is in Jamestown. "Oceanside makes excellent fishing spears and nets. Alexandria has extra solar panels."

Shannon says, "This trip in June would be a good first step toward forming an ongoing alliance."

"Forming an alliance could also draw us into trouble," Barry replies. "Haven't these camps already been involved in multiple wars?"

"Haven't _we_?" Shannon replies.

"All the reason to avoid more," Ana agrees with Barry. "Besides we'll need a full crew for a trip of that duration and distance, and it will be hard for so many sailors to be gone for so long."

"For just three days?" Shannon asks.

"Three days there," Ana replies, "and three days back, and you know they'll want to stay on the island overnight at least one night. It will be over a week. The sailors are needed to maintain the fishing industry here. They're the ones who take the ships out to where the fish are plentiful. And June is prime fishing season, isn't it, Marcus?"

"Well…yeah…" Marcus glances at Carol. "But in November, the fish are starting to descend for warmth anyway. They're harder to catch. I personally wouldn't mind joining a trade team to Oceanside."

"You're just saying that because you're single and you've heard it's an island full of women," Carolyn says.

"I might be able to bring back crabs," Marcus insists.

Barry snorts.

"I mean the crustaceans!" Marcus clarifies. "They're all over the Chesapeake, but we don't get nearly as many down here. We could go crabbing while we're there. And easy for you to laugh, Barry. You're lucky enough to be married."

"If the fish are descending," Barry asks, "aren't the crabs?"

"Crabbing season used to be until December 31st," Marcus tells him.

"But she's proposing _three_ trips a year," Ernesto says. "One in spring and one in summer. Now those are both fishing seasons, not to mention the planting. And November is the heart of the harvest, when the fishermen become pluckers. Can we spare a team big enough to sail that far, and the rations to do it? Don't forget they won't be working, but they'll need to eat."

"Trading _is_ working," Captain Cummings insists.

"Besides, we'll eat out of the river," Marcus says. "For meat, anyway. We'll need water and vegetables or fruit. And like I said, I may come back with lots of crabs. And if they have something we don't, something we want - "

"- Like women?" Carolyn asks with a smirk.

"I'm just saying. The trip could pay for itself."

"We could lose talent," Carolyn cautions. "If our men sail there and marry their women and stay."

"We just assimilated a great deal of talent," Captain Cummings tells his fellow councilmen. "And it won't be long before we have population pressures. It might not be a bad thing if _some_ of our men _did_ end up moving to Oceanside. And of course, it's always possible some of their women could end up moving here."

"I'm not promising any romantic relationships will develop here," Carol cautions them.

"No one thinks you are," Captain Cummings assures her. "But nature runs its course."

Ana shakes her head. "I'm still worried about foreign entanglements. Say Oceanside gets in a war, or some other camp in that alliance, and they ask for our help. What then?"

"Then we cross that bridge if and when we come to it," Garland suggests. "No one's proposing we sign a pact of mutual defense. We're talking a _trade_ agreement."

"Well, I think it's a good idea," Shannon says.

"We should at least send a team to the fall trade fair in November, when representatives of all those camps are there," Garland agrees. "We should see what they've got. Can we at least _compromise_ on that? Maybe not a trip this June, but this November?"

"How are sailing conditions in November?" Carolyn asks as she leans forward to look down the table at Captain Cummings.

"Favorable, usually. Good winds. Not yet cold enough for ice."

Garland crosses his arms on the table. "Then let's go ahead and vote on the November trip for now."

"Dare I point out," Ana says, "that we'll have a new council well before November? Shouldn't we leave this decision to them?"

"I agree," Dr. Ahmad says. "And who knows how much will change between now and November? That's months away. We could be in the midst of a quarantine. Or a drought. Who knows what. I think it's an excellent idea, going to this trade fair, and I'm in favor…but let's leave the decision for October. That's still plenty of time to prepare for a November trade trip."

"I don't know," Shannon says. "I really think we should go this June. Carol's son lives there. Let the woman see her son!"

"I'm fully in favor of establishing a trade route," Captain Cummings says, "but I think Ana and Dr. Ahmad have good points. Now that I consider it...It makes more sense to make our first foray in November, when all of their communities will be present for the fair, and when our new council is settled into it role and we have a new mayor who will continue to serve for the next eight months."

"Who says we're going to have a new mayor?" Shannon asks him.

"We could. We _could_ have a new mayor. The new council might choose someone else."

"_You_, you mean?" Shannon asks.

Garland mutters something to her underneath his breath and Shannon shakes her head but falls silent.

"Let's take this vote," Garland says. "All in favor of tabling this issue for October? At which point the council will vote on sending a team in November?"

Eight hands go up. Shannon looks up and down the table and raises hers reluctantly. "I still think we should go in June," she says, "but I'll compromise." She shoots Carol an apologetic look, but Carol's just glad the proposal is being taken seriously and seems to have the approval of the majority of the council. Henry won't expect her until November anyway, when she promised Dianne she would make the journey.

She'll have to work on persuading Ana, Barry, Carolyn, and Ernesto before October, though, if they're re-elected to the council. They all seemed to have concerns about the idea. And, who knows? In October, maybe _she'll_ be sitting behind that table, and _she'll_ get to vote on the issue.


	9. Building and Caring

Daryl and Mitch pick up the bear tracks at sunrise. They follow the trail for three hours and find the source. Daryl, who's a few yards ahead of Mitch in the forest quickly shoots an arrow into the black bear, but instead of fleeing, it turns and charges them. Dog barks frantically and veers to the side to distract the great animal, but it keeps coming straight for Daryl as he reloads. It takes three shots from Mitch's rifle before the bear falls a few feet in front of Daryl, sluffing to the earth with a strangely quiet huff and whine. Daryl slits its throat quickly with his knife.

The adrenaline is still pumping through their veins when they pull the bear back to Jamestown on the drag sled. "I'll take it to the butcher," Mitch says when they get through the gates. "I know you want to get to work on that cabin. You can pick up the hide later."

Daryl finds Dante coming off one of the ships, where he was making repairs, and pays him their week's rations of tobacco for four more hours of his time. They get to work sizing and sawing beneath the warm April afternoon sun.

When they sit down atop the pile of logs for a water break, Dante says, "Aren't you going to ask me how my hot date went with Sarah last night?"

"Don't give a shit."

"You should ask anyway." Dante holds a cigarette in one hand and his canteen in the other. "It's what men do. Locker room talk, you know."

"Ain't interested in yer exploits."

"Well then you'll be interested to know the date did _not_ go well." Dante takes a swig from his canteen and a puff from his cigarette. He blows the smoke out in a stream across the well-dug rectangular dirt foundation of the cabin, which still awaits a base of stone. "I brought out the champagne. Sarah took one look at it and asked me where I got it. I told her I earned it sawing logs for _you_, and she said I must be some kind of jerk."

"Why?"

"Because she recognized that bottle as the same champagne you and Carol apparently used for the toasts at your wedding. The champagne Carol apparently has been saving for over ten months to toast your first anniversary in May. And what kind of _jerk_ would ask you to part with _that_?"

"Mhmm," Daryl murmurs.

"You _could_ have mentioned it, you know."

Daryl shrugs. "Didn't see a reason to."

"If I knew it had sentimental value, I would have found some other way for you to pay me."

"Like what?" Daryl takes a swig of water.

"I want deerskin moccasins. I know Carol can sew. And I know you get to keep and tan your hides. So promise to make me a pair, and I'll give you back the champagne. I haven't opened it yet."

Daryl looks down at Dante's thick, sturdy brown workboots, which look like they've only been worn a year. "Don't strike me as a moccasin kind of guy."

"I'd give them to Inola."

"Thought ya said ya weren't tryin' to get in 'er pants."

"I'm not," Dante insists. "But she had a pair she loved. When Atohi was sick, and they were both quarantined, their clothes had to be burned. It was part of stopping the spread of the disease, I guess. She misses the moccasins. I mean, she misses Atohi more…but she misses the moccasins."

"A'ight. Have to get a deer first. 'N tannin' takes time. Then the sewin'. Won't be done by my anniversary."

"Can you have it done by August? That's her birthday."

"Yeah."

"Well, then, I'll give you back the champagne tomorrow and take your word for it that the moccasins will follow."

Daryl nods and slides off the logs. "Ya ain't half bad."

Dante chuckles, tosses the butt of his hand-rolled cigarette to the ground, and grinds it out beneath his heel.

[*]

Daryl looks exhausted. He sits slumped in the armchair, staring at the fire, as Carol plays Hi-Ho-Cherry-O with Gary on the floor and Garland rubs Shannon's feet on the couch.

"You worked nonstop today, didn't you, Pookie?" Carol asks after putting two cherries in her bucket.

"Mhmmhm," Daryl murmurs. "Got that bear though. 'N we gotta lot of logs sawn."

Gary spins a two but takes off three cherries. Carol lets it slide. "With Dante's help?"

"Mhmhm. 'N Garland's."

"You gave Dante the champagne?" Carol asks.

"Yeah, but he's givin' it back." He tells her about Dante's date with Sara and the moccasins. "Ya mind sewin' 'em?"

"Of course not."

"Did you hear that, baby?" Shannon asks. "It sounds like your Kingdom crush had herself a hot date with Dante last night. I guess you're out of luck."

"Your Kingdom crush?" Carol asks as she flicks the spinner.

"Garland had lunch with Sarah today in The Tavern."

"To discuss _security_," Garland says. "She's very observant about deficiencies in security, and it was the only time I had available."

"The only time you had available," Shannon says. "On your _day off_?"

"Well, I had to use the practice range and clean all my guns in the morning. I helped Daryl with the cabin for two hours, and then I had to take Gary fishing like I promised. He didn't catch anything but his shirt. But we had fun, didn't we, son?"

"Fun!"

"Lunch was the only time I had to squeeze in that meeting with Sarah."

"You think she's smart and pretty," Shannon says. "You said so."

"It was merely an observation of fact, my love," Garland insists. "In response to your direct question, I might add."

"Well," Shannon grumbles, laying a hand on her protruding, pregnant belly, "it's a fact I'm as big as a house now."

"That would _not_ be a fact," he tells her. "That would be _hyperbole_."

"You're not supposed to give me a lesson in literary terminology, Garland! You're supposed to say, you're _gorgeous_. You're more beautiful than Sarah could ever _dream_ of being!"

Daryl catches Carol's eye and they share an amused smile.

"Well," Carol assures Shannon jokingly. "Sarah told me she's shared meals with five different men, so Garland's probably safe from her snares."

"Did you hear that, baby? Sarah's got _five _suitors."

"May the best man win," Garland replies. He squeezes her foot affectionally. "I already got my prize."

Shannon smiles. "The mystery prize between door number two. You didn't know what you might find when you married me in such a hurry. Was it as good as you hoped for?"

"Better and worse."

Shannon shakes her head. "You still require training, baby."

Gary has abandoned the board game after clearing his tree of cherries, and now he grabs a miniature ambulance from the bookshelf. He runs over and pushes the matchbox vehicle up Daryl's leg. "Fire twuck wanna pway!"

"'S an ambulance," Daryl tells him.

"Am – you – wance?"

"Ambulance," Daryl corrects him. "Used to take sick people to the hospital."

"Hah spit wul?"

"Mhmhm."

"Amyouwance hungwy! Hungwy, hungwy amyouwance!" Gary licks his lips. This has become one of the boy's favorite games to play with Daryl.

Daryl reaches into his front pocket and pulls out an empty brass shell casing he collected from the woods. He holds it out to the ambulance and says, "Nom nom nom nom nom…"

Gary howls. When his laugh titters off, he says, "Unca Dahwall's so funny!"

** [*] **

"I wouldn't mind some evening patrols," Carol tells Sheriff Earl when she turns in the complaints she took down on her four-hour patrol of the Indian Village. "There's not a lot happening in the morning."

"When you're deputized, I'll give you night patrol twice a week, if you want it. But better you have more authority when you're working _those _hours."

She taps the note pages she's placed on the little table in the jailhouse, which doubles as Earl's office. "Because stuff like this happens?"

"Uh oh. What?"

"There was a complaint of indecent exposure last night. A drunk man coming out of the tavern passed a couple of women standing outside their huts and chatting. He dropped his pants and told them to suck it."

Earl flushes. He's not used to having to discuss these things with a _female_ co-worker, Carol surmises.

"The women screamed,” Carol continues, “and he pulled up his pants and took off laughing. I took down the names."

Earl glances at her notes and sighs. "Damn it, Mikey," he mutters.

"What happens next?"

"Well, he's been reported once already for similar harassing behavior. He denied it, and it was a he-said, she-said sort of thing, but now that there's corroboration, he'll probably be convicted and get some kind of sentence – half rations, hard labor, I don’t know. That’s up to the court."

Earl’s mention of the court makes Carol think of Judge Ana Carter. “Do you think your wife will run for re-election in July?" Ana seemed reticent about establishing that trade route to Oceanside.

"Yes, she plans to. Can she count on you for your vote? You'll be a citizen by then."

Carol smiles faintly and makes a noncommittal nod of sorts. She has no idea who's she's going to vote for, and this is probably not the best time to announce that _she's_ thinking of running, too.

[*]

Dog sits by the fallen deer and wags his tail as Daryl field dresses the kill. It took two days to track the animal, but they finally got it. Daryl digs inside and yanks out the organs while Mitch stands guard, one hand on his hip and the other hand on the strap of his rifle. "You took the bear hide, and now you want this one, too?"

"Need it to make moccasins. Look, I'll tan it m'self, 'n then give ya whatever leather's left over after the shoes."

"_You're_ going to wear _moccasins_?" Mitch asks skeptically.

Daryl shakes the excess blood from his hands and then yanks the cloth from his back pocket to wipe them. "Nah. Gonna give 'em to Dante to pay 'em for some work he did. 'N he's gonna give 'em to Inola."

"Oh. That makes more sense. Men are always giving her things. They're all hoping to score now that her husband’s dead."

"Don't think Dante's tryin' to score. Think maybe he just…cares."

[*]

Carol pokes her needle into a pair of Gary's pants and tugs it through. Daryl slides a red checker into the Connect Four game. "I win," he says and shows Gary the vertical column of four red checkers he's created.

Gary drops a yellow checker in on top of Daryl's column of four. " I win!"

"Ain't how it works."

"I win! I win!" Gary claps and slaps the lever so all the checkers fall out the bottom.

Carol chuckles.

Shannon has fallen asleep on the couch reading a book, and Garland is out late at some meeting with Sheriff Earl.

Daryl rubs his eyes, stands from the floor, and flops into the armchair while Gary puts away the game.

"You look _tired_, Pookie."

"Yeah, but I almost got all 'em logs cut 'n sized."

"I'll help you tomorrow after work."

"Nah. Know ya got cookin' 'n washin' 'n sewin'."

Carol handles most of the domestic duties for not only her and Daryl, but also Shannon and Garland. She does it to lighten Shannon's load in her pregnancy and to say thank you for the roof over their heads. "Still, I can squeeze in – "

"- 'M buildin' this for ya," Daryl insists. "Y'll help with the inside when 'm done. Make it…ya know. Nice. Like ya do."

Carol smiles a little sadly. She remembers Daryl coming into Dale's trailer, back on Hershel's farm, after she'd cleaned the place up for Sophia's hoped-for return and to distract herself from the worry. She remembers Daryl's eyes when he looked around, barely recognizing the place, and his gentle assurance when he left: _She's gonna really like it in here._

If Daryl wants to build this cabin for her, without her help, then she'll allow him. And she'll make it a home inside, the kind of home he's probably always secretly longed for –unpretentious but homey, ordered, neat, and warm, with a woman's touch, but space for a man. "Well, you're welcome to my monthly ration of coffee beans to buy labor," she tells him. "And all of my tobacco. I'll give you six rounds of ammo each week, too."

"Thanks. Inola wants them coffee beans. Already gonna give me one hour for the pint. Get more with the beans."

"It's strange she's a mason but lives in a straw adobe."

Daryl shrugs. "Don't need nothin' big. 'S just 'er now. 'N she built her own chimney 'n there." Most of the adobes just have a stone circle for fire and the smoke vent through a hole in the roof that is covered when the fire's not in use. "Real nice stone hearth."

"You've been _in_ her hut?" Carol asks.

"Had lunch there today."

"I…" Carol's not sure what to make of that. She wasn't aware they'd become friends, and she hates the unjustified jealousy that pricks her suddenly. "Why?"

"Invited me 'n Dante to talk 'bout the cabin 'n what type of rocks 'n bricks I need for the foundation."

"Oh. A _working_ lunch?"

"Mhm. 'N Dante measured her spare boots when she wasn't lookin'. For the moccasins." He pats his front shirt pocket. "Got the numbers for ya to sew 'em, once that hide is tanned." The champagne has already been returned and sits again on their dresser, awaiting their anniversary in late May.

"How old is she?" Carol asks.

"Who?"

"Inola, obviously."

"Hell would I know?"

"Well, how old do you think she _looks_?" Carol asks.

"Dunno. Thirty-five? Forty-one? Why?"

"She's pretty. Don't you think?"

"I ain't fallin' into your trap."

Carol laughs.

Gary returns from the bookshelf after putting away the game with a piece of rope and begins playing tug-o-war with Dog. Shannon blinks awake, rolls over onto her back on the couch, and falls back asleep.

"On patrol tomorrow?" Daryl asks.

"Just three hours," Carol replies. "Then I think I'm going to go watch the open town hall."

"Why?" he asks. "Thought they'd tabled that decision for October."

"Just to watch. I figured I should know more about how the council operates if I run for council."

"_What?_"

She nods to the sleeping woman on the couch. "Shannon suggested I consider it."

"We ain't been here but ten days. 'N them elections're what… less 'n three months away?"

Carol shrugs. "I didn't say I'd decided for _sure_ that I'm running. But it can't hurt to get to know more about how these things go. Or to get to know as much about the citizens of Jamestown and their wants and needs as I can."

"_Pfft._ Yeah, right, ya ain't decided for sure. Yer _definitely_ runnin'."

"You don't think I should?"

"Think ya'd make a great councilwoman. And they'd be damn fools not to elect ya."

Carol smiles. "You could run, too."

"Pffft."

"What? Why not? You were on the council at the prison. You were on my council of advisors. You advised Tara and Jesus and Aaron at the Hilltop, too. You'd have a lot to offer."

"Dunno. Ain't gonna run this time, anyway."

"Daddy!" Gary yells when the front door opens. He drops the rope in mid tug and startled Dog plunks down on his haunches.

Garland sweeps up Gary into a hug and then sets him back on his feet. He nods to Daryl and Carol, walks behind the couch, and bends down to kiss Shannon on the forehead. She stirs awake and he says, "Go to bed, darling."

"I don't know why I'm so tired all the time," she says as she gets up off the couch.

"You're growing a baby," Carol reminds her.

"I wasn't this tired with Gary. But this one's a kicker." Shannon's hand drops to her belly. "Wakes me up four times at night. And I'm getting Charlie horses this time around. They wake me up, too."

When she's vanished, Garland slumps down on the couch with a sigh. Gary crawls up next to him and leans against his side. The little boy puts his arm next to Garland's arm and asks, "Why I'm bwown" he pokes his own light black arm, "and you not vewy bwon, Daddy?" He pokes Garland's pale arm. "And mommy not vewy bwon."

"Well, God makes people in all different colors."

"Why?"

"It's more interesting that way."

Gary's little face scrunches up as he ponders this bit of information. "Unca Dahwall not vewy bwown. Ant Cawol not vewy bwon. Mitch bwon but he not my daddy. Dante bwon but he not my daddy."

"No."

Gary tilts his head up and grins at Garland. "You my daddy!"

"That's right." Garland puts an arm around Gary's shoulders and squeezes him tight.

"I love Daddy."

"I love you, too, son. Let's get you to bed."

** [*] **

Seven spring days pass quickly in Jamestown. The deer and bear skins have been cleaned, salted, and soaked and now hang tanning. Stacks of logs sit beneath protective tarps by the cabin building site, and the red bricks and white and gray rocks Daryl spent his last day off scavenging are piled alongside them.

Now Daryl slathers mortar on a flat rock while Inola, who has pulled her long black hair into a ponytail, uses a hammer and chisel to break another to shape. Daryl stands and takes the shaped rock from her and lays it atop the slathered one as she puts another rock on her makeshift worktable.

"How many layers ya think we need?" Daryl asks as he presses down and holds. He's planning on three, but she's the mason, after all.

"With rocks this size, I recommend four. You have plenty of rocks for it. If you give me your leftovers, I'll give you an hour on the chimney later. You're using the brick for that?"

"Yeah."

As he walks by Daryl, Dante shakes up a water bottle full of red liquid and a floating powdery substance. He sets it on Inola's worktable. Inola puts her hammer and chisel down, picks up the bottle, and squints at it. "Is this what I think it is?"

Dante grins. "Kool Aid. You said red was your favorite when you were a kid, right?"

"_Blue_, but I certainly won't turn down red." She unscrews the cap and takes a sip. "Not bad."

"Sugar lasts forever."

"Where'd you find it?"

"Out scavenging in some houses. I have about eighteen more packets. Just pop by my hut sometime, and I'll trade you something for it. That one's on the house."

"Thank you. I'll come by after dinner today." Inola raises an eyebrow and smiles. "Unless _Sarah's_ going to be there?"

Dante sighs. "Ah, no. Carol talked to her and explained I didn't know about the importance of the champagne but…" He shrugs. "She’s seeing Captain Cummins again tonight. It's their _fourth_ date. I'm pretty sure he's going to ask her to be exclusive, and she'll probably say yes."

Inola pouts. "Sorry, Big Bear.” 

From where he's kneeling slathering more mortar on a brick, Daryl snorts.

"What's so funny?" Dante asks him.

"Nothin', Big Bear," Daryl mutters with a smirk.

"Well at least I'm a _big_ bear. Not _tiny_ like Pookey."

"What?" Daryl barks.

Dante laughs. "Yeah, I've heard Carol call you that. _Pookey_. That was that tiny teddy bear Garfield had in the comics."

Is _that_ where Carol got the name from? "Shut up," Daryl grunts.

Inola chuckles.

"See you later," Dante tells her and walks on. She drains the Kool Aid before resuming her chiseling.

** [*] **

The council chambers / museum empties out after an open town hall. Carol lingers and looks at the displays again. She's reading the one on Garland's early work as the second sheriff of Jamestown when Garland comes to stand beside her. "I think Shannon embellished a few things in this narrative," he says.

"You're not a modern-day Sherlock?" Carol asks with a smile.

He chuckles. "So…I've noticed you've attended the last three open town halls. But you only raised an issue at the one last week."

"Are spectators not allowed?"

"They're welcome, of course. That’s why the town halls are _open_. We've just never _had_ a spectator before. Unless they want something from the Council, people usually don't come."

"I'm interested to see how the government operates."

She's also interested in seeing how the potential competition operates. She's figured out, for instance, that Marcus the fisherman is agreeable to eighty percent of citizen's requests, and Ana the judge is disagreeable to eighty percent of them – or at least _appears_ to be so. She's skeptical, asks a lot of questions, but then votes about 60-40 in favor of citizen's requests. Shannon on the other hand, is friendly with the citizens, encouraging of them, but is more likely to vote 55-45 _against_ their requests, so that they leave feeling like she supports them even when she doesn't give them what they want. Captain Cummins seems indifferent to issues not involving the ships, the fishing industry, defense, or water routes, and he just goes with the majority in all other cases. Garland is a quiet observer, but the most likely to raise a contrasting point. Barry is a jokester and unpredictable in his voting habits. Carolyn typically waits for everyone else to vote to raise her hand, and Dr. Ahmad is quick to second any motion, even if it's one he plans to vote against.

She's learned what kind of things bother the citizens most, which citizens are the problem children, and which seem to have good ideas and might one day end up making bids for the council themselves.

"And I was wondering," she says, "could I see the charter? I'd like to study it."

"Certainly. It's in the filing cabinet over here." He leads her to a free-standing green metal cabinet and pulls out a drawer. "This top drawer is never locked. Feel free to come in here any time the room's not closed for deliberations. These are all copies. The originals are under lock and key." He rifles through the folders. “There's a copy of the original charter, the revised charter with the old captain's changes, and then the new charter we adopted this past June."

"What else is in these cabinets?" There's a gray metal cabinet next to the green one. They obviously hold more than the original charters.

"The letters and journals of those who have died. And closed case files of the sheriff's office. You can read any of those if you like, but I'll have to unlock it for you, and you need to tell me when you're done so I can re-lock it. Nothing can leave this room."

"I think I'll just start with the charter."

Garland nods. "Well, have fun.” He leaves her alone to study.

[*]

Tonight, the oil lamp burns low on the nightstand. Carol snuggles up to Daryl in bed after making love and breathes in. "You smell so good."

"Got real muddy huntin', so I took m'weekly hot shower. Had some weird soap 'n there. 'S tan 'n rough, like it had sand 'n it or some shit."

"Well, it smells good."

He yawns. "Ya off tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Why?"

He yawns again. "'Cause 'm gonna take ya shoppin'."

"Shopping?"

He doesn't respond.

"Daryl, what do you mean, _shopping_?"

Daryl snores lightly through his nose.


	10. Shopping at the Home Depot

Daryl waits in the driver's seat as Carol slides a rifle into the grips on the back of the bench, checks the safety on her handgun, and situates her longbow and quiver on her shoulder before climbing up and taking the seat next to him. He shouts a "Hi-ya" to Lancelot and Guinevere, cracks the driver's whip, and the horses trot off through the open gate of Jamestown, pulling the Kingdom's empty wagon behind them.

"Had to pay five rounds to rent our own damn wagon for the day," Daryl mutters as the gates close.

"Well, we did get an awful lot of housing for our people in exchange for this wagon."

"Yeah," he agrees reluctantly.

"So…are you going to tell me where we're going?"

He might as well let the cat out of the bag, or she won't stop pestering him. "Home Depot."

"Sounds romantic," she says with a teasing smile.

"Gonna let ya pick out a wood stove for the cabin." They'll put it in storage until the cabin's built. "Maybe get some porch furniture."

"The cabin's going to have a porch?" she asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Uh…meant furniture for the livin' room." Outdoor furniture is built for the dust of years, after all, and the furniture at Home Depot is less likely to be infested than a couch they might find in a house. "But I can build ya a porch, if ya want."

"I don't need a porch," she says.

He's suddenly uneasy about his plans and afraid of disappointing her. Constructing a cabin from scratch with the intermittent help of other people is no easy task. "Ain't gonna be big, ya know," he mutters. "The cabin."

"You remember I used to live in a tent, right? And then a prison cell?"

"Yeah. 'N then a McMansion."

"I never felt at home in Alexandria."

"Just gonna be a one-room cabin." He peers at her out of the corner of his eye, but this news doesn't seem to disappoint her.

"I'm sure that will make it easier to heat in the winter and cool in the summer. And it's not like we have kids who are gone walk in on us while we're screwing around."

"Could close off the bedroom, though," he tells her. "Put up a room divider like they got in the old whorehut."

"Or we could use drapes. I think that might be more attractive. Home Depot's got rods and curtains and drapes. I'll find something I like. I'm sure the cabin will be perfect. Cozy. I _love_ cozy." She turns to him and smiles.

He catches that smile like a ray from the sun.

"How far is it?" she asks. "The Home Depot?"

"Sixteen miles." That will probably take three hours at the pace they're going. They'll rest and water the horses when they get there, eat lunch, shop, load up, and be back by sunset.

She smiles again – that really pretty smile that means she's _happy_. "I've never gotten to pick out my own stove."

"Ain't gonna be a lot of choice," he warns her. "Garland said maybe three left."

"But," says Carol, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "it's going to be _my_ choice."

Daryl ducks his head and grins, glad to have made her happy.

[*]

Dead walkers litter the parking lot of the Home Depot. There's not a single one trapped in a car – they've all been dragged out and killed, and the trunks are popped and doors opened. Jamestown has already emptied the vehicles of anything worthwhile. Carol hopes the store is more promising.

Rain-battered bags of decomposed mulch slump in wet piles by the doorway. The front door is smashed wide open, and they walk the horses inside and tether them to a pole by a cash register.

While Daryl sweeps through the whole store with his crossbow poised, Carol pours water in tin pans for the horses and temporarily blocks off the open front door with the wagon on the outside and three strings of barb wire across the opening, in case a walker should attempt to enter while they're shopping. Looting places used to be easier when they didn't have the horses to protect.

By the time she's done, Daryl has returned to announce the place is walker-free. They eat a quick, light lunch of dried apples, walnuts, deer jerky, and water, and then they each grab a flat dolly on wheels and begin to push them through the store. They pass the weed whackers and lawnmowers, which have been overturned and ripped apart for electrical parts. The shelves that usually line the outer perimeter of the store with lumber are completely empty. 

They go out a second set of busted sliding glass doors to the covered garden section. There are no seeds or fertilizer or pesticides or gardening sand, but there's still plenty of porch furniture.

Carol sits down in a peeling white rocking chair and pushes off the cement floor.

"Want it?" Daryl asks.

"I don't think so."

"Lots of others. Like any?"

Carol smiles because he seems to desperate to please her. She stands and pats him on the ass before going to try out more furniture. Daryl leans against the frame of a porch swing and watches her. She sits down in a dark brown wicker rocking chair and pushes off the ground. "I want this one," she declares.

"Sold." Daryl loads it onto a dolly.

She tries out the rest of the porch furniture and settles on a three-piece set that includes a couch, large chair, and coffee table that opens to reveal storage space. The base of the furniture is a dark brown wicker, and the cushions are – or rather were – white, before they yellowed with time.

"Don't want the one with the blue cushions?" he asks. "Don't look as…yellow."

"I'll make cushion covers. It's the rest of the look of the furniture I like." She bends down and slides a wicker basket drawer out from beneath the couch. There's a drawer under each cushion. "And look. Extra storage room. And it's comfy." She sits down and pats the cushion next to her. He plops down and a cloud of dust floats up and they both cough. "I'll wash the cushions before I cover them," she assures him.

"Wanna pick a kitchen table?"

Her eyes flit around at the patio furniture. "I think it's all too big."

Daryl points to a small circular, glass-top table in an iron base with two black iron chairs. "Maybe that'un?"

"We can't have Garland and Shannon over for dinner if we only have a two-person table."

"Build ya one, then."

He doesn't need to be building them still more things. He's already building the cabin and planning to build a bed frame, too. "On second thought, let's take that one. I like it. And if we have guests, we can be casual and sit and eat in the living room. But it will be perfect for the two of us."

"A'ight." Daryl loads up all the furniture on two dollies, and they roll them to the front door, leave them there, and take another two empty dollies.

As they move on, loading things onto the two dollies they're pushing, Daryl snatches up a lonely, forgotten box of nails that didn't get looted. He also picks up a few tools of his own and piles them into a metal toolbox. There are still a few smaller tools left in the aisle - hammers, screw drivers, pliers, and other odds and ends. "Should have our own," he says. "For fixin' up stuff 'round the cabin. 'Stead of checkin' out the community's tools all the time."

In the bathroom section, Carol spies a vanity she adores, with a copper wash basin standing on a dark granite counter.

"'S take it if ya love it," Daryl tells her.

"That's silly. We don't have any plumbing."

"Gonna need a washin' bowl, though." He opens the cabinet doors. "Could take out that part of the pipe, but a bucket under it. Pull the plug 'n drain the dirty water into it."

"It's going to look strange without a bathroom though, just…sitting there. And it would take up too much room in the bedroom. We should put a wash bowl on top of our dresser."

"Ya want _this_ wash bowl?"

"Well, the problem is that it's attached to the – "

Before she can finish her sentence, he's got his tools out of the toolbox and is detaching the basin from the vanity. She doesn't have the heart to tell him that while she loves that copper bowl in _combination_ with the overall vanity, it's going to look strange on a dresser. So she just thanks him and kisses his cheek and adds the bowl to the dolly when he gets it off.

In the kitchen section, Carol looks over the models. They've all been torn apart for the cabinets. "I think this is where Shannon and Garland got their stools," she says, pointing to one of the models, which still has a kitchen island remaining. "Too bad there are no cabinets left. I'd love a few cabinets in the kitchen nook."

"Dante introduced me to a cabinet maker. Said he'd take three weeks of tobacco to make 'em."

"_Really_?"

"Yeah. Gonna save up our 'bacco 'n get ya 'zactly what ya want."

"I'm feeling a little spoiled," she says.

"Well…'m feelin' like spoilin' ya." He grins. "Truth is, I ain't never had two dimes to rub together. Never thought I'd have shit to offer a woman. But I can give ya all this. I can actually _do_ it."

Carol wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. The kiss starts gentle, but it doesn't remain gentle. Daryl explores her mouth with his tongue as his hands wander up and down her back. They ravish each other's mouths, coming up only for short breaths. Excited by his unexpected fervor, and giddy with the joy of shopping for their own home, she moans and pushes against him.

Daryl backs her against a model kitchen counter and nips at her neck. She stretches it so he can nip and suck and kiss more easily, and she squirms beneath his hungry assault. "Daryl," she murmurs when he cups a breast through her shirt and squeezes. "We should…"

"Should what?" The question is a throaty murmur. He circles her nipple with his thumb. Even through her shirt and bra, it responds, growing hard.

"We should probably…" She breathes and swallows.

He rakes his teeth over her ear lobe, and she shivers. His voice is low and hungry and sends heat rushing all over her body: "Probably what?"

"Fuck," she says. "We should probably fuck."

"Hell yeah." He steps back and starts undoing his belt, and she scrambles to unbuckle her own. She expects him to lift her onto the counter, the way he's taken her on the teacher's desk in the Kingdom a few times, but instead he tells her, "Turn 'round." She does, and he says, "Hands on the counter."

She lays her palms flat on the cool gray marble and can hear his belt clattering as he pulls his pants down to his knees. Then her pants and underwear are tugged down, and his lips are back on her neck, his breath hot in her ear. With a hand on the inside of her bare thigh, he positions her so he can drive in from behind. She cries out in pleasure when he does, and then he puts both of his hands down atop hers on the counter.

It's quick and hungry, with grunts and moans, but not so quick she doesn't cum just before he spills over. They're both half panting and half laughing when Daryl stumbles off her.

Hurriedly, Carol yanks her pants and underwear back up and zips and buckles. It takes Daryl a little longer to recover well enough to manage to do the same, but once he does, they both lean back against the counter and finish catching their breath.

"That was stupid," she says. "We shouldn't do that in an unsecure location."

"Hey, ya told me to."

"I know."

He smiles at her. "Damn. Guys always bitch 'bout shoppin' with their girls. Take ya shoppin' _anytime_."

"Well that's not happening next time," she assures him. She chuckles. "I told you before we were married that I might like to just fuck sometimes. And you didn't _believe_ me."

"'Cause it wasn't true. _Then_."

"I suppose you're right. I needed to be at a certain point in the relationship first. And this is still not going to be a regular thing, you know."

"Mhmhm." He ducks his head and grins.

"Come on." She pushes off the counter she's leaning against. "Let's keep shopping." They push the dollies onward past the paint section. Jamestown has already cleaned it out. "What are we doing for a mattress? I know you're building a frame, but are we going to try to find a mattress that isn't infested?"

"Gonna buy one from the storehouse. Jamestown's got six left. Still in plastic. Looted a couple mattress stores few years ago. Garland said it'll just cost me an off-the-clock deer or two wild turkeys."

They pause by the home décor section and Carol looks over the curtain rods. Daryl pulls out a much-folded piece of paper where he's written down the measurements for the cabin. She chooses two rods to join together in an L that, with the walls, will cordon off the bedroom. Then she picks out some heavy curtains, a mirror, some lighter curtains for the cabin windows, an area rug, three wall sconces for holding candles, and a black iron hearth tool set, with stand, poker, shovel, broom, and prongs. Daryl waves a finger at the Celtic knot decorating the top of the stand. "'S cool."

"My people were Scotch-Irish. Yours?"

"Hell would I know?"

"Dixon is Scottish. What was your mom's maiden name?"

"Fischer."

"That's German."

"Ain't no countries no more," he says as they load her selections on the dolly.

When they get to the wood stoves, there are exactly three left. Carol scans them over and quickly picks one.

"Damn," Daryl says. "Thought this was gonna take all day. I like how ya shop!"

"Well, I just picked the most expensive one. See." She plucks up the price sign, which reads, $837.99.

"Yer in luck. 'Cause I wasn't gonna let ya spend $838."

Even with as much jigsaw-like finagling as Daryl does, he can't fit everything in the wagon. They opt to leave behind the rocking chair and the kitchen table and chairs. "Ya didn't really want that table," Daryl reasons.

"I really liked that rocking chair, though," she says with a pout.

"'S make a second trip next week," Daryl says. "Get that 'n the other two wood stoves for Jamestown. Someone's gonna need 'em 'ventually. Get us a fire pit, too."

"You don't mind coming back?"

He grins. "I like shoppin' witchya."

As she climbs up onto the bench to sit shotgun, she says, "I _told you_ that's not happening again."

But when Daryl takes the driver's seat, he's chuckling like he doesn't believe her.

[*]

The journey back to Jamestown takes longer, because the horses can't move as fast with all the weight to pull. Daryl repeatedly scans the road for threats as he drives. They're two miles from Jamestown when he spies a walker lurching out from among some abandoned cars. "Three o'clock."

Carol loads her bow and shoots, and the arrow sails into the walker's forehead. Daryl slows the wagon to a stop so she can recover her spent arrow and waits for her to search the walker. She unclips something from its belt. When she climbs back onto the bench, she says, "I just keep getting lucky today. I got two spare magazines, both full, twelve rounds each. Nine millimeter. No gun, though. It's probably in the woods somewhere."

"Must be that last raider. They didn't find all the bodies." Daryl spurs the horses onward.

"Since I hit the jackpot, I'm taking you out to dinner at the tavern when we get back." 

"Oh, so yer claimin' all them bullets for yerself?" he asks.

"I _did_ shoot and search the walker."

"'Cause I's drivin!"

"Fine. We'll split them. Twelve each."

"Good. Takin' ya out to dinner at the tavern."

Carol shakes her head and laughs.

[*]

It's after sunset by the time Daryl gets all their goodies into one of the Jamestown storage rooms and labeled with signs that read: _Property of Mrs. Dixon_. They walk by lantern light to the tavern.

Inside, fire crackles beneath a black cauldron. Candles flicker in sconces on the walls, in a chandelier, and on the few occupied tables. There's no live music tonight, so the tavern isn't crowded. There are four lonely men sitting at the bar, all trying to flirt with the waitresses. Captain Cummins sits at one table drinking with Sarah, while the Kingdom's former doctor Emily and her husband George are both polishing off bowls of soup at another. Dante drinks and laughs at a four-person table with Inola and Inola's brother, whose name Carol doesn't know.

Dante raises his pint glass to them when they walk in, and they stop by his table to say hello.

"Buy me a pint for another hour of masonry?" Inola asks Daryl. "I'm empty."

"Nah. Still got two hours ya owe me. Buy more when I need more."

She sighs.

"I'll buy you a pint, gorgeous!" calls a man from the bar.

Inola cranes her neck back to look at him. "Just as long as you know you aren't getting anything in return for it."

"Then never mind," the man mutters.

Dante chuckles. "I'll buy you a pint, Inola." He waves to Candy, who comes over and takes all three of their empty pint glasses. "Just refill hers and mine and put it on my tab," Dante tells her. "I'm not buying for this guy." He points to Inola's brother. When Candy disappears, he tells Daryl and Carol, "Pull up an extra chair. Join us."

They do, and Inola introduces her brother Adahy.

"Adahy?" Carol repeats to make sure she has the pronunciation.

He nods. "It's Cherokee. It means _lives in the woods_. But I don’t live in the woods. I share a one-room hut with this non-pint-buying asshole." Adahy points directly at Dante. "Who ignores the sock tacked outside the doorway."

"It was dark," Dante insists. "I didn't _see_ it."

"You saw something, though, didn't you?"

Dante leans closer to Inola. "This is a humble brag, because your brother got laid last night."

"_Who_?" Inola asks.

"Anika," Adahy tells her.

"One of the Kingdom women," Dante explains. "She's only twenty-one."

"Jesus, Adahy!" Inola exclaims. "That's _half_ your age."

"No it isn’t. It’s five-eighths my age. And she's very mature.” He pushes back his chair. "Well, if no one's buying me another pint, I'm heading home. And if there's a sock tacked beside the doorway when you get back, Dante, you better not part those beads. Take a long walk."

Carol and Daryl re-situate the chairs when Adahy's gone, so that it's not so crowded and there's one person on each side of the square card table. "How come ya got a tab," Daryl asks Dante, "and I gotta pay in advance?"

"I usually pay by fixing things around the tavern. I can't really do that in the dark. I'll do it tomorrow."

"Dante always wanted to be a carpenter," Inola says.

"But I became a lumberjack because the company was giving health care benefits and I needed coverage for my boy. He had sickle cell disease."

The statement hits Carol like a slap. She sometimes forgets that most people had entire families before the world ended. She can't envision Dante with a child, thinking about health insurance policies.

Trisha, the other waitress, sets down Dante and Inola's refilled pints. "What can I get you other two?"

"What's the soup?" Carol asks. "It smells good."

"Potato and bear meat stew. We've also got bear steaks today. We grill them outside. Six ounces, and it comes with a side of collard greens."

"How much ammo that cost?" Daryl asks.

"Five rounds for the soup. Seven for the steak."

"I'll have the soup," Carol says.

"'N I'll get the steak," Daryl replies.

"Anything to drink?"

"Uh…" Daryl's just spent his twelve rounds on the food.

"Yes, a pint for each of us," Carol says. "On me." She'll have to get the tip, too, for both of them.

Daryl starts counting out his ammo, but the waitress says he can pay after the meal. "We know you're good for it now." Daryl slips the magazine back in his pocket.

Dante raises his pint glass to Inola and says, "To your late husband, a man among men, and a true hero. I miss that asshole every damn day."

Inola smiles a little sadly. "To Atohi," she agrees, and clinks his glass. Then she tells Daryl, "The bear steaks are great. I had one last night."

"On your hot date with the fisherman?" Dante asks. "How'd that go?"

She shrugs. "The steak was great."

Dante snorts. "That bad, huh?"

"I let him make out with me for a few minutes, and let's just say I was underwhelmed. So I called it a night."

"No second date?" Dante asks.

"I don't think so."

"Good." Dante sets his pint glass down. "It's too soon, anyway. Atohi would be rolling over in his grave."

"Atohi is dead," she tells him. "And he would want me to be happy." She turns to Carol. "So, what sort of hearth style do you prefer?"

They talk about various possible designs and patterns for the chimney and hearth for the cabin until Daryl and Carol's food arrives. Carol steals a bite of Daryl's steak, and he steals a bite of her stew.

"Hate payin' for this when I killed 'n skinned it," Daryl mutters.

"You got paid rations for your work," Carol reminds him.

"So y'all need to vote for Inola in July," Dante tells them.

"_Dante_," scolds Inola, sounding embarrassed.

"What? You're obviously not going to campaign for yourself. _Someone_ needs to. It's not enough just to throw your name in on the ballot."

"Oh?" Carol asks. "You're running for Town Council?"

"Well...they don't have any _builders," _Inola replies._ "_No one to represent the workmen."

“What kind of changes would you like to see?” Carol asks. 

"Well,” Inola answers, “I think we need to start letting some of the workmen work for rations by building more housing, to prepare for growth. It's too expensive for people to build their own huts and cabins. I mean…Daryl's managing it, obviously. But he's a workhorse."

"Got m'vote," Daryl tells her.

"Who else is going to run?" Dante asks. "Do you know?"

Daryl glances at Carol, but she shakes her head slightly to tell him not to mention that she's considering it. It's too soon to announce that. They aren't even officially citizens until next week.

"Mayor Barron, of course," Inola says. "But Shannon said she's not going to run for re-election this time. Neither is Marcus."

_ Well damn _ , Carol thinks. Marcus was in favor of establishing the trade route to Oceanside, and she was counting on his vote in October when the council re-considers the issue. "Why not?" she asks.

"He doesn't like all the hours. But I think everyone else on the council is going to run for re-election."

Carol dips her spoon into her bowl. "Anyone new running?"

"Lieutenant James Witherspoon.” That was the young man who bought them drinks the other night. “Gunther. He's the assistant farm manager. Deputy Thomas. So that's thirteen candidates for nine slots unless anyone else decides to run. So I guess I have a decent chance."

[*]

Later that night, when Carol's stripping off all her gear and laying it in a neat line on the dresser, Daryl, who's sitting down on the bed to unlace his boots, asks, "So ya don't want no one to know yer runnin'?"

"Not yet." She unbuckles her belt and drapes it over the wood chair in the corner, on top of Daryl's. "Not until we're full citizens, at least."

Daryl's boot goes flying off his foot and hits the opposite wall. He peels off his socks and tucks them in the other boot.

Carol drops her pants. "And I probably won't announce until June." She unbuttons her outer shirt and drapes it on the chair.

Daryl chews on his thumbnail, the way he does when he's nervous. He drops his hand. "I…uh….maybe already mentioned it to Mitch. When we was huntin' yesterday."

She sighs.

"I didn't know!" he says defensively. "Ya didn't tell me ya didn't want no one to know."

Carol pulls her bra out through her sleeves and hangs it over her shirt before crawling into bed in only her tank top and underwear. "Could you maybe ask him not to mention it?"

"Sure. Don't think he talks much to anyone anyhow, though." Daryl yanks off his shirt, stands, and drops his pants.

"You know…" she tells him when he turns down the oil lamp and crawls in naked "…we've _already_ had sex today."

"Ain't got no boxer's to sleep in, 'n 's warm."

"We could switch to the lighter blanket."

"Nah. 'M fine. 'N…ya know…if ya _happen_ to change yer mind….'m accessible."

She chuckles. "I'm tired." She settles her head on his shoulder. "Seven years ago, did you ever think you'd be comfortable sleeping completely naked with someone?"

"Nah. Really didn't."

She snuggles closer. "Well, I'm glad I make you comfortable."

He warps his arms around her. "Right now m'balls are kind of uncomfortable, though. Kind of blue."

"Stop. I did nothing to tease you."

"Took yer pants off."

"To sleep. In my plain cotton underwear."

"Wearin' that damn sexy tank top."

"It's just a regular tank top. Not even a nice one." It t has a thread loose on the bottom and a hole in one shoulder strap.

"Yeah, but 's got a really nice pair of tits 'neath it. Could see yer nipples through it."

"Well you can't see anything now," she tells him. "It's dark."

"Can imagine 'em, though." His voice grows huskier. "Getting hard when I flick my tongue all over 'em…" He runs a finger up her spine. "'N pinch 'n twist 'em just the way ya like…." He runs the finger back down. "Suck on 'em 'til ya squirm."

"Dammit."

He chuckles. "Horny now?"

"A little bit."

He rolls on his side to face her and snakes a hand beneath her shirt. "Bet I can make ya alotta bit."

"Maybe," she admits as he begins to caress her bare breasts. "But take it _slowly_ this time."

"Yes'm," he murmurs as he bends his head to kiss her.

Carol closes her eyes and lets the gentle pleasure of his hands and mouth wash over her.


End file.
